


The Heart Heist

by jsnoopy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crimes & Criminals, Denial of Feelings, Found Family, Heist, Implied Sexual Content, Light Arson, M/M, Miscommunication, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Time Skips, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:46:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28768044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsnoopy/pseuds/jsnoopy
Summary: Renjun is a ghost by trade. But maybe it isn't the tea alone that warms Renjun from the inside out when he's around Mark. Maybe it's the way his fingers fly over keys, his throaty chuckle through the headset on gray mornings when bleakness settles over the office like a blanket of snow.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Mark Lee
Comments: 12
Kudos: 43
Collections: Markren Secret Santa 2020





	1. seoul pt. i

**Author's Note:**

  * For [toastily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/toastily/gifts).



> toast, writing this without your input was terrible... an experience i wouldn’t wish on anyone. but writing something FOR you has been one of the most exciting experiences i’ve had with fic. i’m so grateful that we talk so much... how are you so helpful without even trying to be? 
> 
> i hope this fic delivers for you... if it doesn’t hit the spot i’ll write 15 more to make up for it. 
> 
> and a big big thank you to chloe for reading this fic in its worst state and always offering me invaluable advice. i’m lucky to have a friend in you <3

It isn’t until Paris, watching Mark’s shirt turn dark with blood, that Renjun admits that he’s in love.

But the problem starts long before Paris. Three years before Paris, in Seoul.

Donghyuck says the cold helps him stay alert. From where Renjun’s sitting, Donghyuck doesn’t look as thoughtful as he does frozen, staring at his watch as the seconds tick by.

Jaemin leans his arms on the steering wheel. He twists his head to the side, cracking his neck, and catches Renjun’s eyes. 

Renjun lifts his brows. 

Jaemin winks.

“Is your friend going to show up any time soon?” Jaemin asks.

Donghyuck checks his watch. "He's not late."

Jaemin scoffs. "Really? Well, we're going to be. Did you hire someone else who doesn't understand punctuality?"

"You're one to talk," Donghyuck mutters.

The quiet space of the car devolves into bickering.

Renjun sighs. His breath fogs up the window, blurring the view of the street crowded with matching black cars -- CEOs and VIPs driven to work in company cars, cozy with their heated seats and catered breakfasts. 

Renjun clenches his hands into fists between his thighs, praying for his body heat to magically produce enough heat to still the shivers. He had to get up especially early this morning in order to carpool with Jaemin and Donghyuck. 

When he'd agreed the trade-off seemed fair -- some sleep for a commute which required little thought -- but he'd forgotten about the dropping temperature as winter crept over Seoul and Donghyuck's quirks weren't the first thought in his mind. Being privy to this meeting, however, is a priority.

"Look," Donghyuck hisses, smacking Jaemin's hand away as it reaches to snatch his fashionable and tech-heavy glasses off his nose. "Look, he's right there."

Renjun straightens his spine, rolling his shoulders back as he leans over to peer between Donghyuck and Jaemin's seats.

At their spot, parallel parked snugly between two other cars at the curb, it's hard to see much farther up the sidewalk. But Renjun spots him right away -- his suit fits a little too loosely, his belt tight around narrow hips, visible through his open puffy coat. He could pass as a university student, a lost intern maybe, cup carrier balanced in one hand as he glances between his phone screen and the cars.

Donghyuck rolls the window down and waves. Cold air blasts into Renjun's face. 

He frowns, rubbing the sting from his eyes. When he blinks them open again, the guy's already sliding into the backseat beside him.

"Hi," he says, smiling around at them. Up close, his glasses look a lot like Donghyuck's, but the thick lenses betray his poor eyesight.

Jaemin twists in his seat, eying him up and down. "Chenle will have a field day with you. Are those for us?"

"Uh-- oh, yeah," Donghyuck's guy says, holding the drink carrier up and using his index finger to point. "There are two americanos, a latte, and a tea. I didn't know what everyone might like."

Renjun sees Donghyuck reaching for the tea and shoots him a dirty look. Mid-air, Donghyuck's hand shifts direction, grabbing the latte instead.

"Thank you," Renjun says, because he was raised well with manners. He lifts the tea from the carrier and tosses the sleeve onto the floor. The heat from the cup against his bare skin is unbearable for only a second, and then it sinks into him. Renjun is grateful before the first sip even reaches his tongue.

"Well, we know he thinks ahead." Jaemin plucks a cup from the carrier.

"I don't hire people who don't think," Donghyuck says.

"You hired Jaemin," Renjun points out.

To his credit, Donghyuck's guy doesn't seem too bothered by being an obvious outsider. "I appreciate the opportunity."

"No problem," Donghyuck says. "You came highly recommended."

"Still... it's been a while since I've worked a job."

"It's like riding a bike, isn't it? I'm sure you'll catch on quick. If not, we'll just make you the scapegoat."

Renjun shakes his head a little as the guy laughs. He's worked enough jobs with Donghyuck to hear the current of truth under his joke. You don't fuck up Lee Donghyuck's plot without consequences. Renjun's been scathed too many times himself, had his cut of a job halved and halved again for his mistakes. Not that he didn't deserve it.

"That's Jaemin, our professional actor," Donghyuck says, nodding his head toward their driver. He pauses for Jaemin to exchange his pleasantries, but he only wiggles his fingers over the lid of his coffee. 

Then Donghyuck's gaze slides to the backseat, fixing on Renjun. "And our professional thief, Renjun."

Jaemin tsks. "Aren't we all professional thieves?"

"It's nice to meet you both," Donghyuck's guy says. "I'm Mark. I guess I'm your new tech guy."

Renjun glances from his neatly combed hair, still wet from a shower and slightly frozen, to his scuffed shoes. "Temporary tech guy."

"Right," Mark says. 

He seems impenetrable to discouragement. It's endearing, in the way puppies tripping over their feet might be, but it does little to encourage Renjun's confidence in his abilities. He'll have to trust Donghyuck's judgment on this one.

The job is simple in the way that Renjun doesn’t have to do much lying. Not at first. 

Donghyuck’s connections get them hired at the headquarters of the Neo Conglomerate, where the seediest, most underhanded deals take place in the brightest conference rooms.

It isn’t hard work, because Jisung programmed their company emails to be invisible to their coworkers and the most Renjun has to do in his off time from the real job is look busy. 

He just has to show up and blend in with his exhausted colleagues. Sometimes Renjun even works overtime. He’ll squeeze into Jeno's cubicle and they’ll take turns flicking tiny balls of paper between each other's hands. 

For now, while Donghyuck and Jaemin get into the good graces of the CFO's secretary's secretary, Renjun waits.

The job is simple, up until the next part. Waiting shouldn't be so difficult. But simple and long lead to unease. The spaces between cubicles start to look like haunted hallways. 

Renjun's a ghost by trade, but he still feels dogged by anxiety as he walks from his desk to the break room and back again, disappearing into the restroom to stare at his reflection until he thinks he might lean forward and slip through the mirror into another world.

"Give me another week," Donghyuck tells him over the phone. 

Renjun's pacing his bare apartment, slipping over the laminate floors in his socks. He goes careening toward the open window and catches himself on the sill. He ducks his head through it, stares at the street below.

"One week?" Renjun asks.

"Sure. Just one more week."

Renjun's been at the Neo Conglomerate, marketing division, for five months when Mark slips into the backseat. And maybe it isn't the tea alone that warms Renjun from the inside out. He's only human, flesh and bone and eyes that can see the way Mark's fingers fly over his laptop keyboard, ears that can hear his throaty chuckle through his in-ear device on gray mornings when bleakness settles over the office like a blanket of snow.

“Not another game of solitaire…”

Renjun scans the screen for his next move, clicking a card before he responds. If his pause is in the effort to keep himself from smiling, only he has to know -- he’s the only one in his cubicle, after all. “Tri peaks.”

“Tri peaks solitaire,” Mark counters.

“Sure,” Renjun murmurs. “Are you the only one who’s allowed to play videogames on the clock, then?”

Mark laughs breathily -- it sounds like a wheeze. For a brief second, Renjun wonders if he should be worried that he’s choking on a chip. Then he asks, “Is that what I do?”

“That’s exactly what you do,” Renjun says. He pauses as footsteps approach, but they pass behind his desk so fast he doesn’t even need to minimize his game. “Aren’t we just your little virtual reality pawns?”

“I’d have to be in control for you to be my pawns.”

Renjun leans his chin in his palm. He’s going to get back problems from this job -- at least he isn’t going to be stuck here forever like his fake-coworkers. “What would be different if you were in control?”

Silence. Renjun almost doesn’t register it, but something in his brain pings out an alarm at the absence of Mark’s warm voice. He extends a finger, taps his in-ear. But it isn’t a poor signal disrupting their chat. Just hesitation.

“I have a few ideas,” Jaemin’s voice cuts in. “I would put a ban on flirting during the work week. I just had to sit through the last five minutes of that meeting acting like there wasn’t a terrible meet-cute playing out inside my ear. The boss is going to think I’ve developed a twitch.”

“Who’s flirting?” Renjun mutters. “Your whole job is flirting.”

“Hey,” Donghyuck starts, “important conversations only, please. Does this seem like an important conversation?”

As if Donghyuck didn’t use the line to whine about the brand of instant coffee available in the breakroom two days ago. Renjun bites his tongue and his in-ear piece falls silent.

A few seconds later, his computer pings. At the corner of the screen, the company instant messaging system shows he has a notification. He blinks. 

He should be invisible and anonymous, not even registered for the system. His stomach sinks as he swipes his mouse away from the cards to open the message.

gamerguy_USER_NOT_FOUND: If I was in control, I’d make private channels for communication :)

ANON_USER_NOT_FOUND: Looks like you just did.

A pause, then three dots appear under his message. Mark is typing. 

Renjun closes the chat window and doesn’t open it again, not when one message comes in, not for the second. 

His inner ear crackles with Jeno’s afternoon snack. But otherwise, stays silent.

Renjun’s place is cold and impersonal. 

At least, that’s what Chenle says the first time he swings by unannounced, a newly tailored suit draped over his shoulder. The suit is for Renjun, and he’d told Chenle he’d get it from Donghyuck.

Chenle ignores him. He slides his sunglasses up to the top of his head and turns in a slow circle, taking in Renjun’s empty living room from where he stands in the center. “Do you have a life?”

“The job is my life,” Renjun says. He stays by the open door, gesturing with a sweep of his hand toward the hallway. 

Chenle doesn’t get the hint. Or he doesn’t care, which is much more likely. He lifts a judging brow and continues through the apartment to Renjun’s bedroom. Renjun doesn’t follow him, but he hears the long, heavy sigh Chenle exhales.

“No interests at all?” Chenle asks when he appears again, suit left behind and, presumably, hung neatly in Renjun’s closet. “Nothing that brings you comfort or joy?”

“We’re working,” Renjun says again. “I only moved in here because it’s close to the office.”

“You have a serious problem. What kind of work-life balance is this, Renjun?”

Renjun shakes his head. Life _is_ work, and there’s nothing he finds more interesting than the blueprints tucked neatly under his bed, waiting for the job. But Chenle wouldn’t get it. None of them do. “Anything else?”

Chenle sighs again. “Yes. For what you’re paying, you could at least rent some furniture, you’re wasting a perfectly good space.”

“I’m not paying anything,” Renjun says. “It’s on Donghyuck’s card.”

Though Renjun will never admit it, Chenle is right. Too many nights spent alone in his apartment wear on him. The sound of his own footsteps echo off the walls, grating his patience with the well polished blade of loneliness. Even his blueprints cannot soothe him. He sweeps his fingers over the lines of the safe on paper, imagines the cool metal under his skin, and his heart beats hollow in his chest.

He holds out as long as he can, and then he goes to Jeno.

Unlike Renjun, Jeno’s home reeks of permanence and money. The doorman recognizes Renjun, nodding to him as he calls down the elevator. As the doors slide shut, Renjun’s blood runs cold. Recognition is the last thing he needs, especially in connection to his coworkers. 

They’re not friends -- they shouldn’t be, anyway. 

Renjun isn’t the only one feeling lonely tonight. He raps his knuckles against the door and stares into the security camera hanging above the door as he waits.

The door swings open. Donghyuck crosses his arms over his chest. “Is this a booty call?”

“I think someone needs to call for that,” Renjun says as he shoulders past him. “Did you?”

“Would be a nasty surprise, if I had and you’d shown up here instead.”

As Renjun slips his shoes and coat off, Donghyuck locks the door, sliding the deadbolt back into place. They both hover by the door for another moment as Donghyuck watches the security screen beside the door, but no one comes up after Renjun.

“You should really call next time,” Donghyuck says. “In case he’s busy.”

Renjun rolls his eyes and follows Donghyuck into the living room. “I’ve caught you in worse positions in public places.”

Donghyuck sighs. “One time. It was once.”

“It’s my job to remember.”

They round the corner. 

Jeno sits at the big glass coffee table, his chin cradled in his palm as he sips on a beer. “Isn’t it your job to steal?”

Lying on the couch, laptop balanced on his knees, Mark glances up at them. His lips purse together briefly before breaking into a smile. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Renjun hesitates in the doorway. He’s not afraid of walking in on Donghyuck and Jeno, so what brings him pause to encounter no Mark here? 

Donghyuck is already settling on the floor beside Jeno and Renjun is still standing in the doorway. Donghyuck lifts a brow, curious. 

Renjun hasn’t come this far just to let Donghyuck or anyone else get under his skin. He squares his shoulders and crosses to the couch, sitting at the opposite end as Mark. “Did I interrupt a work meeting?”

Mark sits up and runs his hand through his hair. It sticks up straight from his forehead, thick with the product he uses to slick it back at Neo, but the tips flip out in the semblance of waves. Renjun tries not to stare, but since Mark’s directly facing him he can’t help but meet his eyes.

“Have you eaten?” Jeno asks. He points to the take-out boxes on the kitchen counter. 

Renjun shakes his head. “I’m fine. What are we talking about?”

“You should eat,” Mark murmurs.

“Transferring departments,” Donghyuck answers, rolling over Mark’s voice with the subtlety of a dump truck. He slides a manila folder across the coffee table. 

Renjun snatches it before it can fall and scatter the contents all over his feet. 

He flips it open, goes directly to his page, his employee ID card affixed to the corner of the page with a puppy paperclip. “Insurance?”

“That’s the end goal,” Donghyuck says. “We need a good reason to get into somebody’s home, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. I thought there was a party?”

“Fundraiser,” Donghyuck corrects. He glances sideways at Mark as he stands, but continues when Mark walks around the back of the couch without offering interruption. “It’s a good distraction, they’ll be too busy playing host to stick around and watch the insurance investigators.”

“What are we investigating?” Renjun tsks. 

“The fire.”

“Who’s--”

Jeno raises his hand. “I guess that’ll be me.”

“I’m sure that there’s an easier way to do this,” Renjun says.

“Sure, probably.” Donghyuck shrugs. “But it probably wouldn’t be as much fun.”

That’s maybe the stupidest logic Renjun’s ever heard, but he isn’t granted the opportunity to argue with Donghyuck, who’s supposed to be the smartest one in the room, every room.

Something nudges his arm and Renjun looks up, finding Mark there, holding a bowl out to him, piled with rice and chicken and a little of everything else.

Renjun blinks at him, surprise so thick in his throat that it must show on his face because Mark smiles and takes his hand. He doesn’t let go until Renjun’s fingers curl over the curve of the bowl.

“Eat,” Mark murmurs.

Renjun nods minutely. “Thanks.”

Mark’s smile twitches, digs deep into his cheeks. He turns away fast, ducking his head as he steps over Renjun’s feet and settles on the couch again. Maybe he’s a little closer than before. Maybe Renjun’s paranoid.

Jeno clears his throat, raising his beer again. Over his long drink, head tipped back, he catches Renjun’s gaze, his eyes glimmering with knowing. Well, he doesn’t know shit.

“If I need to be in the insurance department, couldn’t you have started me there?” Renjun shoots back at Donghyuck. “Why have I been wasting away in marketing?”

Donghyuck huffs. “Oh, you just have no patience, that’s your problem.”

Renjun will take Donghyuck’s admonishments and turn his cheek. He’ll take big bites of cold take-out and let it warm him inside out. 

In the background, the clacking of a keyboard and the absence of it, a pair of warm brown eyes on his face chilling him again, bringing the world to balance.

Renjun's deep in his 26th game of daily solitaire when a stranger knocks on the corner of his cubicle. 

"Hey," they say, balancing a box wedged between their arm and hip. "This is my desk."

Renjun blinks at them. "Um."

"You're supposed to go down to, um--" They pause, glance down at the box. "It doesn't say. Are you supposed to be transferring departments?"

That's what Renjun gets for not joining their carpool this morning. No warning. At least he doesn't have much at his desk.

He stands, grabbing his pen and notebook, and closes his game. Stepping back, the desk looks just as empty as when he stepped inside that first day."It's all yours." 

As he walks down the aisle of identical cubicles, Renjun tries to commit the floor to memory. He won't be back here, and it's nice to have something to look back on. But by the time the elevator doors slide closed, he's already forgotten the color of the carpet and the precise way he could keep the old office chair from squeaking. 

Jaemin welcomes him to the insurance department with a surprise. 

"It's nice to meet you," Jaemin hums, flashing his widest smile, as if he needs to charm Renjun. As if Renjun could be charmed at this point of knowing him.

For the act, Renjun smiles back and only squeezes a little too hard when they clasp each other's hands in greeting. "Where's my desk?"

"Ah, so eager to get to work! We appreciate that around here," Jaemin says, guiding him down the hall of offices. 

Everything on this floor is new, clean and smooth, smelling of fresh air despite the thick windows enclosing them at nearly all sides. The light is brighter up here. If there's a heaven for office workers who have already sold their souls, then this may be a close semblance.

“You’ll love it up here, we’re all _close_ ,” Jaemin says as he leads him through the desks, “like _family._ ”

Renjun schools his expression. Jaemin is far too observant for his own good, and knows just how to press his buttons. Balking his roleplay will only serve to encourage him.

“Then I can’t wait for us to get to know each other.”

If he didn’t know better, he might believe Jaemin to be put out by his response. But Jaemin is too stubborn for that. 

Jaemin’s smile fades, but maintains at a slight tilt, just at the corners. The cat that got the canary. “The pleasure will be all mine, Renjun.”

As he forges ahead, sweeping his arm out in a gesture for Renjun to follow, Renjun rolls his eyes up to the ceiling, praying to whoever may be listening that he’ll have the patience to survive this day, and his coworkers.

Like fate, Renjun met both Jeno and Jaemin the same night.

Donghyuck picked him up from his part-time job at a Mom's Touch on the edge of a sprawling campus. He sniffed Renjun's shirt, shrugged out of his own jacket and pushed it into his arms.

"Wear this. We're meeting someone."

Renjun didn't question him. Donghyuck had promised to teach Renjun how to be a better thief, and that was more than anyone had promised him before.

He'd learn, eventually, that Donghyuck made a lot of promises to a lot of people. But he kept his ledger clean -- everything he owed, he repaid. He always kept his promises.

To Lee Jeno, Donghyuck had promised a date. In return, he needed one favor. 

"When I text you, come inside," Donghyuck said, ducking his head toward Jeno's ear as they shared a cigarette outside a minimally busy pawnshop. "And make a big scene."

Jeno tilted his head. "A scene."

"Yeah," Donghyuck said. "Your choice what we've done, just pick a fight with me or Renjun and chase us out."

Jeno squinted at him, driving the toe of his worn sneaker into a crack in the pavement. "That's all?"

"Well," Donghyuck's gaze slid over to Renjun and he smirked, his eyes bright with a look that said 'hey, watch this trick.' His hand landed carefully on Jeno's arm. When he squeezed his bicep, Jeno's jacket had no give, clinging to his muscles. "If anyone follows us out, you just have to stop them."

Jeno puffed his cheeks out, holding his breath, looking torn. By the time he exhaled, his expression was hard with resolve. "And you'll go out with me?"

"Duh," Donghyuck murmured, squeezing his arm again. "How can I resist a handsome face like yours?"

Renjun rolled his eyes, shifting from foot to foot. “What am I doing here again?”

“You’re looking for a birthday gift for your girlfriend.’ Donghyuck paused, then amended, “No. Mom? Grandmother? Whatever lovely lady relative you’d like to buy some expensive jewelry for.”

Renjun took the face mask Donghyuck held out to hook, hooking it over one ear. “Is it that unbelievable that I could have a girlfriend?”

Jeno laughed, shrugging his shoulders up with the surprising force of it. 

Donghyuck shot him a look and shook his head, but Jeno seemed incapable of suppressing his quiet giggles.

Renjun wasn’t so amused.

Donghyuck put his own mask on, hiding his smile, though the mirth shaking in his eyes remained obvious. His voice curved with amusement. “Stop looking so cold and maybe we’ll believe you could maintain a relationship.” 

When Renjun passed him he made sure to bump his shoulder. He may not have been very strong but he knew how to aim his pointier body parts.

Donghyuck only huffed a laugh, following him inside. 

There aren't many people milling around the pawnshop. There isn't enough space in the small room for there to be more than ten anyway, but it's better that there aren't many witnesses.

Donghyuck leads the way to the counter, eyes bright as he looks over the jewelry in the long case. He taps his fingers to his chin, rocking back on his heels as his gaze sweeps up and over to the only employee in the shop -- a middle-aged man who warily crosses to them as soon as he's finished dealing with another customer.

Donghyuck is the picture of politeness, greeting the man. It's his friend that's looking for a gift, but he's on a bit of a budget, he explains, could they please look at some of the jewelry?

The man's attention is on Renjun, then, expectant, waiting for him to choose what he wants to see. Behind his face mask, Renjun grimaces. At least he doesn't have to be a good actor with half of his face hidden. It's only taken a few minutes for him to realize that this isn't only a scheme for some quick cash, but a test for his own abilities. He has an eye for shiny watches, sure, and can usually tell when a designer wallet has genuine stitching, which are the best bags to reach into while bumping through a crowd. But jewelry is beyond him.

Donghyuck wants to see what he'll choose.

Renjun casts a brief glance over the case. There are a few necklaces with gaudy pendants, worn-looking rings with fat stones, and a simple bracelet, thin, not flashy at all. He requests that one.

He doesn't bother glancing Donghyuck's way. It was the right choice -- the man behind the counter shifts on his feet, making a sour look at their clothes, the obvious emptiness of their wallets, and holds onto the bracelet when he pulls it out from the display case. 

“Do you like that one?” Donghyuck asks, He’s all casual, pulling his phone out of his pocket. That’s how Renjun knows he made the right choice. Donghyuck sends the text.

“Mm, I don’t know,” Renjun sighs, squinting down at the bracelet. He leans down closer, careful not to touch the glass of the display case -- fingerprints won’t do him any good, the police already have them in their system, from a while back before he met Donghyuck. 

Donghyuck looks to the man behind the counter. Even with his mask on, it’s obvious that he’s wearing his most charming smile, his eyes glittering. “Can we take a closer look, sir?”

Donghyuck’s voice is so sickly sweet that Renjun almost gags. He isn’t sure how to works, but after a moment of wary study of the two young men standing in front of him, the man hands the bracelet to Renjun. 

He’s smart not to trust the glint in Donghyuck’s eyes. 

He’s a fool to take Renjun’s own caution for something trustworthy.

Behind them, the door opens, and a gust of cold air hits the back of Renjun’s neck.

“Hey, you!”

 _Creative_ , Renjun thought as he curled his fingers around the bracelet and ducked away from Jeno’s grab. 

_Chase us out,_ Donghyuck had said -- but he hadn’t mentioned that he would swing, too, knocking his elbow into Jeno’s gut before sprinting for the door. 

Renjun heard Jeno’s wheeze, felt a flash of worry, but it wasn’t Jeno that would be in trouble once the shop owner recovered from surprise. 

Renjun ran. 

Across the street, down an alley, right, then left, a dead-end, out again, another alley. Renjun ran after Donghyuck, his heartbeat in his ears even louder than the footfalls closing in behind him.

Donghyuck skidded to a stop around the side of a bunsikjeom, heaving deep breaths as he leaned back against the wall. Renjun glanced over his shoulder, concerned, but it was only Jeno following behind them.

"You're fucking crazy," Jeno said, laughing, still clutching his side where Donghyuck jabbed him.

"Crazy and rich," Donghyuck said, grinning. His attention fell to Renjun. "You've got it?"

Renjun held up the bracelet. The metal charms winked in the fading evening light. When Donghyuck reached for it, Renjun stepped back, shoving it into his pocket. "Next time, actually tell me what we're doing."

Donghyuck pouted. "Isn't it more fun this way? Don't look down on the element of surprise."

"We're not even going to make that much off of this -- is the element of surprise worth being arrested?" Renjun snapped.

"Hey," Jeno said, "let's just--"

His chance at defending Donghyuck's honor was cut short, as the sound of disgruntled voices grew louder. Across the street, separated only by the fast flow of traffic, the man from the pawnshop was hovering at the edge of the curb.

"You punks!" He shouted. In a few moments, he would decide the cars were slow enough to weave through, and then what?

Jeno swore. Donghyuck snagged Renjun's sleeve, tugging him down the alleyway. They slipped around the back of the next building, tried a few doors, and were lucky enough to find an open one. They stepped inside and founds themselves standing in a dark hallway.

"Like breaking and entering is any better," Renjun mumbled.

"We didn't break anything," Jeno said.

"Shh!" Eyes adjusting to the dim light, Renjun could only just make out Donghyuck holding a finger to his lips, his other hand still curled around Renjun's wrist.

Somewhere else in the building was an exchange of voices, echoing as though spoken into a microphone, a pause, a chorus of laughter. They were far from alone.

"I'm sure we can go in a few minutes," Donghyuck whispered. "We just need to...stay quiet."

Noise wasn't the problem.

The problem was a door on the opposite end of the hallway swinging open, flooding the hallway with light and revealing a boy their age with white-blond hair and dramatic stage makeup. He had a mic cord wrapped around his hand, his shirt pulled up to his chin as he picked off the tape that held it the wire in place.

He paused when he noticed the three of them. "Hello? Are you... You can't be back here."

Behind Renjun, the doorknob rattled.

"Can you help us hide?" Renjun asked.

The boy looked at him as if he'd suddenly grown a second head. Then, he shrugged. "Sure. Follow me."

Squashing up against Jeno and Donghyuck in the corner of a dressing room, suffocating on the scent of sweat and old fabric, wasn't exactly how Renjun imagined his night going. It certainly wouldn't be worth his cut of the bracelet -- a few hundred thousand won, if that? Pathetic. If Donghyuck wanted him to risk his ass, then serious changes needed to be made.

"Next time," Renjun whispered, "we're stealing something much bigger."

Somewhere close to his ribs, Donghyuck coughed out a laugh. "Deal."

"Next time?" Jeno mumbled.

"Hey," their savior said, poking his head through the clothes hanging from the garment rack that hid them. "What happened to being quiet? I thought you were hiding from someone."

He'd wiped half of his makeup off, but it still clung to the underside of his jaw in patches, thick concealer and contour. Without the silly costume, he was far more intimidating. He kept looking at Renjun, as if Renjun held all the answers.

Renjun didn't have a clue. He just shrugged. "Are you going to kick us out?"

"No way. This is the most exciting thing to happen to me all week. You're all buying me drinks after this and filling me in."

Renjun raised a brow. "We are?"

"Well, I don't hide people for free." He smiled widely, revealing a set of extra-white teeth, and disappeared to the other side of the garment rack again.

"That guy's crazy," Jeno mumbled.

Maybe. Maybe he was just as bored and desperate as they were.

Not much has changed.

Even now, Jeno is always right behind them. Jaemin is still a little desperate.

Donghyuck still has terrible ideas.

And, for some reason, Renjun still listens to them.

A promotion, and his role to come, requires the right kind of clothes. That’s where Chenle comes in.

Renjun stands still as Chenle pins the suit, taking in the fabric to fit his slim figure. In the mirror, he watches as he morphs into a businessman -- suave and proper if a little young. 

He sucks in his cheeks, clamping his teeth onto the flesh, and tries to imagine what he might look like ten years from now when the last of his baby fat dissolves and leaves him hardened. 

Chenle meets his eyes through the mirror and lifts his brows, bemused. 

Renjun drops the expression, clearing his throat. "How much longer is this going to take? I'm hungry."

"I'll order something."

He won’t. They both know Renjun isn’t really hungry, just bored and unfamiliar with staying sedentary for long. His shoulders ache to roll, his ribs to stretch his body out, his feet to pace the long hall of Chenle's apartment. But even just lolling his head to the side, cracking his knuckles, prompt Chenle to viciously jab at him with the pins. 

"Taking up acupuncture?" Renjun snarks.

"Shut up or I'll sew your mouth shut," Chenle mutters around the pins held between his teeth. He squints at the hem of Renjun's slacks, adjusting the length in minuscule measures. 

The afternoon drifts on, the sun streaming through the window creeping across the floor. A blessed knock on the door makes Chenle lift his head. 

Renjun glances over his shoulder, as though he could see who's behind the door. "Are you expecting someone?"

Chenle doesn't answer, stepping back. "Don't sit down unless you want a sharp pain in your ass."

Renjun rolls his eyes, but takes the opportunity to stretch his arms out, free from Chenle's torture as he answers the door.

“Is that for me?” Chenle asks.

"The hot chocolate, don't touch the-- hey, that's for--"

There's the sound of a scuffle by the door, but Renjun can't turn around. He's frozen, staring down at his bare feet. 

Renjun is a planner. He knows what's coming up ahead because he's researched it, gone over the possibilities, made sure to examine every angle so that there will be no surprises.

"Are you psychic or something?" Jeno had asked once, mouth full of ramyeon at his convenience store of choice. It had been a narrow escape, but Renjun knew their opponents, and always had the upper hand. He’d learned the hard way not to let details escape him.

"No," Renjun had said. "Unfortunately, I just use my head."

But this is a threat Renjun does not have a plan for -- Mark's voice shooting chills up his spine, his ears flushing hot. He reaches up with unsteady hands and pinches the tips of his ears. That's how Mark and Chenle find him again, pulling on his ears, chin tucked down.

"You can sit down if you're dizzy," Chenle sighs, cupping Renjun's elbow and pulling him toward a chair. "I don't actually have any pins on your ass."

"Oh," Renjun says. He tries to protest, to voice an excuse, say he's alright, _anything_ , but he meets Mark's worried gaze and his ability to speak vanishes. 

Renjun tears his eyes away, rolling his head back as he sinks into the couch. Maybe the blank white ceiling will soothe his mind and put his heart to rest. He wishes he wouldn’t notice how his heart jumps as Mark settles beside him.

"Are you alright?" Mark asks. "I brought-- here."

He takes Renjun's hand, pressing something warm into his palm. Renjun curls his fingers around the cup. With his attention fixed on the white plastered ceiling, the static around his wrist where Mark is still touching him, only grows stronger.

Renjun gives up. He looks. He's holding a to-go cup from some cafe he's never heard of. He glances at Mark.

"Chenle said you'd be here," Mark explains. "So, I thought I'd get you a tea. That's what you like, right?"

Renjun nods shortly, worries his thumbnail under the lid. "Thanks."

"Has he been torturing you long?" Mark asks. "What should I expect?"

Renjun runs his tongue over the inside of his teeth, glancing at the doorway into the kitchen as Chenle disappears through it. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh-- I have to get fitted?"

"For what?"

Mark laughs. The sound bursts out like a firecracker. "For a suit. Boss's orders."

"Well, if Donghyuck says so," Renjun murmurs.

"I do what I'm told," Mark says. "Apparently my office wear is 'atrocious.' And I'm not blending in as much as I should."

"Donghyuck said that?"

"I did," Chenle answers, entering the room again with a bottle of water that he tosses into the air. Renjun catches it last second, shooting him a look. "And I wasn't wrong. Mark, there's a garment bag in the bedroom, go change so I can see what we're working with."

Mark sighs. "Whatever you say, boss."

Chenle rolls his eyes. "Renjun, are you finished playing Victorian orphan with a fainting problem? Let's finish up so you can go back to being a hermit."

It would be a waste of energy to argue. Mark turns down the hall to Chenle's bedroom. 

In the mirror, Renjun surveys the neat hems Chenle's fixed, how the blazer dips in to fit his slight waist. And over his shoulder, one glance, then two, reveals the expanse of Mark's back, the bare skin of his arms through the crack in the door. Another surprise. 

The voice in the back of his head teases him for the way his mouth goes dry at the sight of the swell of Mark's biceps and the line of his neck as he leans over to pull up the slacks.

 _Shut up,_ he tells that voice. It doesn’t, but Renjun has grown skilled at ignoring an obvious problem. He keeps his head down, stays still, and waits for Chenle to finish.

They finish before Mark emerges again, and Renjun dresses in his own clothes quickly, too wound up to care about being seen by any passersby through Chenle’s open windows. 

Mark says, “Oh, you’re leaving?”

“Good luck,” Renjun says. He doesn’t wait for a _goodbye_ and, later, ignores Chenle’s teasing texts. 

It’s a problem with hidden details. He doesn’t have the answer yet.

Renjun first found salvation in a shopping mall.

Renjun was seventeen and pushing his luck. He held his tongue between his teeth as he slunk out of the security office. It was just a warning, but his face stung from failure.

"Sucks," a boy said as he stepped alongside Renjun, matching his strides.

Renjun cast the stranger a sidelong glance, lifting his brows. "Excuse me?"

"Sucks that you got caught. You were a little obvious though. Anyone could've seen the box in your pocket from a mile away. What was it?"

"What...was it?"

The boy nodded, his black hair bouncing with the bob of his head, the skip in his step. "What were you trying to steal?"

The eyes of the security guards were pinned to his back. He needed to walk a straight path out of this place, away from being a target, and try again somewhere else. He didn't need to admit his guilt to some random nosy kid.

Renjun said, "Fuck off."

The boy laughed. "I could teach you how to get away with it next time."

Renjun's steps faltered. "How?"

"Well, next time, at least, take the watch out of the box."

"With cameras everywhere?"

"Half the cameras aren't even on. You don't know how to tell?"

Renjun scoffed, striding out of the mall. The winter wind struck his face. His eyes watered, the tip of his nose burned. He swiped his wrist under his nose, sniffing, and turned back to the boy, who had followed him out. "How do you do it then?"

The boy smiled. "I'll show you. Do you trust me?"

"Fuck no."

Renjun grimaced as the boy slung his arm around Renjun’s shoulders and guided him away from the doors.

"You will," Donghyuck said. "You'll have to."

As slowly as the months have crept by at Neo Conglomerate, the day arrives just as suddenly. 

They set up headquarters in a hotel that’s far too expensive for any of them to justify, except for that it has a perfect view of the mountain.

While the rest of them get ready for the fundraiser, Renjun joins Jaemin and Jeno on the balcony of their suite. They’re both quiet when he walks out, and he takes the opportunity to suck in deep lungfuls of the cool evening air.

“Oh,” Jaemin says suddenly, passing his binoculars to Renjun. “It’s fucking ugly.”

“It can’t be so bad.” In the distance, the house on the hill is no larger than the tip of his pinky finger. When he raises the binoculars, the details become clear. Bleached beige arches, columns, mismatched capitals like a grotesque Greco-Roman, colonial monster lurking over the city. It stands alone on the mountain, the long drive that leads to the front courtyard hidden by trees. 

“Yeah, they deserve to get robbed,” Renjun decides.

Jaemin taps his fingers against his chin. “There aren’t even any houses nearby. No neighbors. Think they bought the whole mountain?”

Renjun shrugs. “Maybe.”

“Easier for us to get in and out though, isn’t it? No one is close enough to see us.”

“No,” Jeno says. “That makes it worse. There’s only one road in and out. If anything goes wrong…”

They could be trapped.

Jeno sighs and leans forward on the railing of the hotel balcony. “Donghyuck should’ve told us.”

“Hey,” Renjun says. “If it’s important, Donghyuck will tell us. Since when has he bothered us with the little details?”

He wants to believe it as much as Jeno and Jaemin do. Judging from the set of Jeno’s lips, his slow exhale, and Jaemin’s fingers worrying at his collar, neither of them do.

Night descends. The show begins.

"Mr. Kim," Jaemin greets jovially as soon as the front door opens, bowing. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, sir."

The man at the door grunts his response, looking somewhat flustered to find them at his door. "Can I help you?"

"We're here for the inspection, sir."

"Inspection?" Mr. Kim glances back into his house. With the door opened just enough for his body, the loud laughter and clinking glasses from the fundraiser wash over them. "Right now?"

"Is it not the 21st?" Jaemin asks. His forehead creases between his brows as he pulls out his phone, tapping away. "I'm so sorry, sir, if we've imposed, but my office informed me that today-- ah, yes, today. See, sir, the appointment was set at the beginning of the month."

"Yes, well, that must have been my assistant," Mr. Kim says. The gap in the door inches narrower as he leans back. "I'll call and reschedule. Tonight is really not the best time."

"I can see that. My sincerest apologies, sir," Jaemin says with another bow. 

Renjun follows his lead, tucking his arm over his stomach and bowing low. 

When they straighten again, Jaemin continues, "I'm sure we'll be able to schedule another appointment soon. How does June sound?"

Mr. Kim's attention jerks back. "June?"

"Mm. I'm afraid that's the earliest we could schedule you -- your assistant must have pulled a miracle getting you onto the calendar even this early. But I understand that you're preoccupied, so we can--"

"No," Mr. Kim says quickly. "No, come in."

Like magic, Jaemin has charmed them inside. Renjun wonders how Mr. Kim will react when he realizes that his plot to scam an insurance company of its money is exactly the reason he has lost his own. He hopes he won't be around to see his face when he does. 

"This way." Mr. Kim leads them through the house.

It's just as ugly on the inside as the outside. Their shoes clack over marble floors as they pass between broad columns and gold-framed paintings. Chenle might be the art-expert, but Renjun has been in the business long enough to recognize half of them as fakes. Either this guy has no taste, no intelligence, or he's just as much of a fraud as they are.

Just before the steps leading down to the study -- according to the blueprint of the house Donghyuck provided days ago -- Mr. Kim pauses beside a man and leans in, whispering something into the ear that's free of a security headset. The man nods, his gaze flickering over both Jaemin and Renjun. 

Renjun resists the urge to exchange a glance with Jaemin. He schools his face into something he hopes is cool and collected, even as his stomach rolls. 

The security guard is huge. He could fling Renjun across the room like a sack of feathers. The fact that Jeno is outside, separated from them by both a security gate and those thick walls, doesn't soothe him either.

Mr. Kim motions them forward again with a flick of his hand, as though calling for a well-trained dog. Renjun bites his tongue.

The study is as opulent as Renjun expected. He looks around aimlessly, trying not to focus his attention on the bookcase he knows disguises the door to the safe. He isn't supposed to know that, after all. 

"I have to hurry back to my guests, but my head of security, Mr. Seo, will be accompanying you," Mr. Kim explains. "You have your inventory list, yes?"

"Of course, sir," Jaemin says, smiling again. "We'll take care of everything as quickly as we can. I'm sure everything is in its place, as it should be."

"It is," Mr. Kim says, unmoved by Jaemin's brilliant and unwavering charm. "Mr. Seo will see you out when you're finished."

Their host leaves them with Mr. Seo without another word, only the slight tip of his head. Renjun wants to breathe out a sigh of relief but resists the urge. Not yet. Not with Mr. Seo in the room, and not until they get out of this place either. 

Renjun chooses to believe it’s adrenaline, rather than anxiety, that keeps his blood pumping through his veins, his heart beating so hard in his chest he has half a mind that Mr. Seo might hear it and guess that there's something wrong.

Nothing is wrong, anyway. Renjun is just an addict, standing so close to his substance of choice that he can taste coins in his mouth.

"Will you open the safe for us, sir?" Jaemin asks. 

Mr. Seo hesitates as Jaemin flips open his bag, but visibly relaxes when all Jaemin pulls out is a binder and pen. 

They are just two insurance inspectors, after all. All that Mr. Seo needs to know is that these bags hold the tools of their insurance trade. He doesn't need to know about everything else, like the secret pocket lining the hem of Renjun's blazer.

Mr. Seo pulls out a seemingly random book and the whole shelf swings outward.

Jaemin whistles. "Impressive. I've only seen that in movies."

They split at the door, Jaemin going in one direction as Renjun steps down the other aisle. Ignoring the case in the center of the room makes Renjun’s neck prick with sweat, but it’s better not to go straight for the prize while the guard is still so observant. There are a few scenes that have yet to begin before Mr. Seo’s mind can wander, before he gets sloppy with worry, as people tend to do.

The first depends on Renjun. After a few minutes of reviewing his clipboard, checking its list against the contents of the shelf in front of him – leather bound tomes that probably cost more than his life – he starts the first scene. 

Behind his eyelids, the curtains go up. He puffs a troubled exhale through his mouth, and pulls a handkerchief from his pocket to dab at his forehead and upper lip. 

To Mr. Seo’s watchful eyes, Renjun’s skin may glisten with a thin layer of sweat – he won’t know that the pre-moistened handkerchief was the cause, rather than Renjun’s nerves.

Renjun grips his clipboard hard, fanning his face with small, precise movements.

Mr. Seo, in the doorway, shifts from one foot to the other. “If you’re going to be sick, please exit the vault.”

“Oh.” Renjun laughs sheepishly, dabbing his face again. “Oh, no. It’s just a little warm in here.”

“You’ll have to forgive my colleague,” Jaemin says pleasantly. “Sometimes confined spaces make him nervous.”

Mr. Seo doesn't seem convinced, but he holds his tongue. 

Renjun continues fanning himself with the long side of his clipboard as he turns toward Jaemin. The display case that holds the necklace stands between them. 

Renjun has seen pictures – stared, for hours, at the pendant that hangs at the center, analyzing the angles, each cut – but photos don’t do justice to the fat diamond in front of him. His palm aches with the phantom weight of it – in minutes, he’ll know for sure what it feels like to hold something worth 10 billion won.

He’s not the only one who’s been set alight by the mere sight of the diamond. Across from him, Jaemin meets his gaze with glittering eyes.

It’s not the fire in his eyes that causes Renjun to start fanning himself again. The sweat pricking at his temples is real now.

Jaemin leans down, painting a frown over his lips. “Hm. Hmm.”

“Is something wrong?” Mr. Seo asks, playing directly into the role they’d given him.

“The case is reflecting the light all over the place. It’s difficult to really see the necklace, or judge the security precautions,” Jaemin sighs. He purses his lips, apparently deep in thought, then turns to the guard. “What are the precautions exactly as you know them? The paperwork tells one story…”

Mr. Seo eyes him for a long moment. Maybe he’s looking for a crack in the armor – something that might betray the real reason they’ve come here. But Jaemin’s pleasantness wins and Mr. Seo points to the case. “Keycode, weighted stand.” He jerks his chin to the corner. “Camera.”

Renjun turns his head and squints at the camera in the corner of the room. It’s innocuous enough that it doesn’t stand out. He hadn’t really noticed it when they’d entered. Stupid of him, with all his experience, not to have kept it in the back of his head. It’s listed on the paper, after all.

He keeps his gaze trained there for only a few seconds, adjusts his glasses once, and hopes the tiny camera embedded in the frames has done its job of shooting the image to Mark, hunched in the back of the van halfway down the long mountain drive. 

There’s a sound like a quiet hum in Renjun’s in-ear headset, so brief he could have imagined it. He hopes it was confirmation. He hopes Mark has enough time to do his job.

“I assume you have the key code?” Jaemin asks.

The guard nods and is immediately caught in a stare-down, the strength of which Renjun has only seen from Jaemin. To his credit, Mr. Seo holds out longer than anyone. Unfortunately, for him and his employer, Jaemin is unbeatable.

Mr. Seo punches in the code, and then everything happens at once.

Maintaining a professional smile, Renjun slips his hands into his gloves and reaches for the necklace. He takes three seconds to examine it, then he dabs his forehead with his handkerchief, gasps, and falls. 

He twists his body before he hits the ground, angling his torso away from Jaemin and Mr. Seo so that he has a few seconds to exchange the necklace for the fake, tucking it first into his handkerchief, then into the hidden pocket tucked along his hem. 

A shadow looms over him. He curls his hand around the fake necklace, pressed against the second handkerchief, and blinks fast, as though a little dazed.

Mr. Seo doesn’t speak. Renjun’s stomach sinks.

The guard reaches down and carefully removes the diamond necklace from Renjun’s grip. Then, with a sigh, hauls Renjun up from the floor by his arm.

“I told you,” Mr. Seo says, “if you’re going to be sick, go outside.”

“My apologies,” Renjun says weakly. “I must have-- I must have--”

“Fainted,” Jaemin fills in for him, shaking his head. “Why don’t you go get some fresh air? I’ll finish here.”

“Oh, no,” Renjun protests, inhaling a shaky breath, “I’ll be fine.”

“Go,” Jaemin insists. He shoots a smile in Mr. Seo’s direction. “Some people can be so stubborn. As if I’ll put it on his work report… It’ll be worse if you fall over again and break something! Go, before we really upset Mr. Kim.”

Renjun acts hesitant, but there isn’t much time to waste protesting. Mr. Seo doesn’t even look suspicious, just vaguely disgusted. 

“I’ll meet you outside,” Renjun agrees. He bows slightly to Mr. Seo, apologizing once more, and walks carefully from the vault, through the office, well aware of the guard’s watchful eyes on him. 

No one notices him as he walks back the way they came. He’s more careful now, looking for cameras, but there aren’t many -- no one wants to feel watched in their own home. 

Then, across from the entrance to the entertaining area, where the fundraiser guests mill around with glasses half-full of expensive champagne, a red blinking light. Renjun pauses, adjusts his glasses, and follows its sight to the opposite wall, where a small painting hangs. 

His breath catches in his throat. He can’t believe he’d walked past it once already, without even noticing the vivid flashes of color. 

“It’s an original,” he murmurs, without realizing he’s spoken aloud.

In his ear, Mark hums. “Are you a fan?”

Renjun straightens his spine, startled. With Mark’s silence, he’d almost forgotten that Mark can see everything, not only through the camera in his glasses, but the top buttons in Jaemin’s and Chenle’s blazers, a chain around Donghyuck’s neck, and whatever parts of the security system he’s managed to hack into at this point, courtesy of an electrical visit two days prior.

“Yeah,” Renjun says, glancing up and down the hallway before he explains. “It’s a TY. Not even a print. Not a real common sight.”

“Maybe with your cut, you can buy your own.”

Renjun snorts. “Please. TY’s are always going to be a little out of my price range.”

Mark laughs. “You have expensive taste. And five minutes.”

Renjun swears under his breath, checking his watch. Mark’s right. He can’t get distracted, even by pretty things. “Surprised no one else has yelled at me for chatting yet.”

“Don’t worry,” Mark hums, “private channel.”

Something flares in Renjun’s chest, but he stamps it down. Donghyuck’s voice echoes around the back of his head. _No distractions. Don’t give them time to notice._

And no one does, not even as he joins the party. Chenle’s careful tailoring helps him fit in among the upper class, celebrities and wannabes alike. 

The trade-off is quick and easy. A champagne flute from Donghyuck for a dropped handkerchief.

“Oh, sorry,” Renjun says, for the fun of it, as if he didn’t just drop 10 billion won beside a half-eaten hors d’oeuvre.

Disguised as a waiter, Donghyuck can only shoot him a heated glare before he sweeps away across the room. 

Then it’s time for Renjun to leave. His role has finished, and his scene is coming to an end. Better to go before the finale. 

He leaves out the front door, bemused by the lack of security, and wanders down to the open gate, through it, and skirts around the edge of the woods as he walks down to join Mark in the van. 

It is, by all accounts, his most anti-climactic escape route. There’s a twinge of disappointment at not even being chased, but that’s what they don’t tell you before you get into this line of work -- not everything is a chase.

He climbs into the driver’s seat and curls his fingers over the steering wheel. He doesn’t dare bother Mark, whose typing and clicking has not ceased since Renjun opened the door. 

Instead, he waits. He’s good at waiting. 

Inside, he knows the scenes that are taking place. Donghyuck is passing the goods to Chenle, who is adjusting the second fake in some dark corner of the house. 

Then Chenle will be passing both back to Donghyuck, who steps into the hall to offer someone a drink just as a loud, whooping alarm sounds. It’s a fire -- a surprise to all the guests. Donghyuck is trying to look shocked, Jaemin is pulling off his surprise, and when he leaves the vault on the heels of Mr. Seo, he’s taking the second fake and circling back around to the office.

“Please exit the house,” Mr. Seo is probably calling after him.

“I need my work!” Jaemin is probably calling back. He’s surprisingly quick on his feet. Now equipped with the knowledge of the keycode, thanks to Mark’s quick camera adjustment, he’ll be able to swap the fakes, and leave before anyone gets suspicious. 

If no one has reported them already.

If it all goes right, Jeno will join him and Mark soon after setting the fire. They’ll wait for the first disgruntled guests to leave, Jaemin, Donghyuck and Chenle hidden among their sleek black cars, and then will follow. It’ll be easy.

Renjun just has to wait and see.

It’s never that easy. 

“Fuck,” Mark says. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Jesus Christ.”

Renjun doesn’t want to ask. He really doesn’t. He turns in his seat slowly, his heart frozen in his chest. 

Mark’s hair sticks up at all angles, collateral damage in Mark’s stress. He’s closed his eyes and is taking deep breaths.

“Everything...okay?” Renjun asks, against his better judgment.

Mark’s eyes fly open. Suddenly, he looks much, much older. “They know.”

Renjun’s heart sinks. “They know?”

“Chenle isn’t even finished with the-- Fuck.”

 _Fuck_ is right. Renjun turns around and stares out the windshield. The road, as long and winding as it is, feels narrow now, closing in on them. 

Mark climbs up to the passenger seat from the back, and then out of the car. 

Renjun eyes him, watching him fish something out of his pocket. It’s a little box, the size of a cigarette carton. This isn’t exactly the time for a smoke. 

He considers rolling down the window and telling him that when a car zooms past them, screeching to a halt some ways down the drive. Renjun blinks, stunned, as he watches Donghyuck swing out of the backseat, meeting Mark halfway to the van. They exchange a few words, shake hands, and then hurry back to their respective vehicles.

“What’s going on?” Renjun asks as soon as Mark opens the door, too jumpy to wait for him to start his explanation.

“The cops are here already,” Mark says, buckling his seatbelt. “They’re going to get their attention and try to lead them away. They can lose them easier than we can.”

That’s true. The van’s too big and heavy to withstand a chase. But it doesn’t make Renjun feel any better. 

“How long do we wait?”

Mark checks his watch. “Let’s give them five minutes.”

“Three.”

Mark glances at him sideways, his expression impassive. It only makes Renjun more nervous. “Four.”

“It’s already been a minute, that’s not even a compromise,” Renjun argues.

Mark checks his watch again. “Just start driving down now, then. Slowly. Can you do slow?”

He’ll show him slow. Renjun grits his teeth, turning the key in the ignition, and starts down the road at a pace that makes his skin crawl. Casual. No need to catch attention. They’re not running away from anything -- just some maintenance people finishing a day’s work.

Timing, it turns out, doesn’t matter.

At the end of the drive are flashing lights, a handful of cars, a roadblock. If the others made it out, it was by the skin of their teeth. For Renjun and Mark, there’s no chance. One look into the backseat, and the whole force will descend on the gear they’ve got stored back there.

Renjun swallows hard. “We’re trapped.”

“No.”

“Mark,” Renjun huffs. “We are. There’s no way out, there’s no way--”

Mark grabs Renjun’s hand, gripping it tight. “Do you trust me?”

Renjun stares down at the foot of the mountain, where the flashing lights wait to haul them away in handcuffs. 

Donghyuck should have had a plan for this. Renjun trusted him to have a plan. Misplaced faith.

Renjun looks at Mark, meets his warm brown eyes. He nods. “I trust you.”

Mark pulls him out of the car and into the woods.

It's dark and cold. Their breath puffs in clouds in front of their faces. But they don't pause to reconsider their options. There are no other options.

Renjun trips over a fallen branch and Mark hauls him up again, gripping his arm with both hands. He doesn't let him stop then either, driving them forward. 

Behind them, voices call into the forest. They don't look back and, after a few minutes, they can no longer see the flashing lights from the road. It's just them, the trees, the moonlight streaming through the nearly bare branches.

"Where are we going?" Renjun asks, keeping his voice low.

"We should be able to reach the main road from here." Despite the certainty in his words, Mark's voice wavers. 

Renjun doubts that Mark knows how to survive in the forest -- he doesn't either. But he knows how to survive in the streets. And from that, the main lesson he learned was to keep pushing through, no matter how cold and dark and dismal the night felt. 

Renjun squeezes Mark's hand. "Wait a second."

Mark pauses.

"I think we're climbing up again," Renjun says. "We need to be going down."

Mark blinks and looks side to side. They've been stumbling over their own feet trying to run uphill, but that will only lead them back to the house. 

The main road is at the bottom of the mountain, and if they have any hope of leaving without handcuffs, it's waiting there.

"Right," Mark says. "Fuck. I'm sorry."

"It's fine," Renjun breathes, "let's keep moving."

Their eyes have adjusted to the darkness. They could probably keep walking without holding onto each other. But Renjun holds Mark's hand tighter as he leads him down. The rest of his body is aching cold, but where they touch is a small flame, a light that can guide them home -- a hope. 

"This is why you're the best in the business, right?" Mark whispers, barely audible over the crack of twigs underfoot, the whoosh of a bird flying overhead. "You always know what to do."

"You have too much faith in me. Now shut up."

Mark is good at following orders. He steps in the wake of Renjun's trail and keeps quiet. It feels like both seconds and hours before they hear the sound of cars rushing by. 

"Hopefully we're far enough from the driveway," Renjun mumbles.

"Should I call Donghyuck?"

"Fuck Donghyuck." Renjun squats down on the ground, watching headlights come and go, and tries to think. Donghyuck should have told them -- should have had a better plan. Did he even care? Was this a trap? They could've been ruined. 

For the first time, the tightness in Renjun's chest grows, threatening to swallow him whole. He pulls his hand out of Mark's grip, covering his face. "Fuck. Think."

It's hard to form a coherent thought. It's hard to plan with his blood rushing in his ears as loud as the ocean battering a cliff face. Renjun feels like he's standing on the edge of a precipice, keen to fall over and let the wind decide his fate. 

"Renjun," Mark murmurs, close to his ear.

Renjun swallows the ocean of unease that fills his mouth, shoving it down until it can be locked in a vial, tucked somewhere deep inside him to be dealt with later. For now, he has to get out of here. For now, he has to use his head, not his heart.

Mark pulls him up. It’s the second time Renjun’s been gripped by his arm that night. Mark’s hands are much gentler. 

“Are you going to be-- can you breathe okay?” Mark asks. He taps the end of Renjun’s tie. “Do you need to loosen this?”

Renjun shakes his head. “It’s fine. I’m fine. We can… we just need to catch a cab or something.”

“Yeah,” Mark agrees, quiet, “we’ll go back to the hotel and… hopefully the others are there already.”

It’s the best plan they’ve got. Straight forward. Looking ahead. For a moment, Renjun thinks, _This is all going to be fine._

And then he trips. 

There isn’t anything to catch himself on, no low hanging branch to scrape his palms raw. Instead he goes sideways, throwing out his arms to brace his fall. He hears his wrist before he feels it -- the stretch, the pop. 

There are a few moments of quiet before he inhales the first shuddering breath, and then pain flares down to his fingertips, up his forearm, a searing pulse that has him blinking tears away like he’s a little kid.

“Oh,” Renjun says. “Fuck.”

Renjun lets the door slam against the wall as he shoves it open, striding into the room with one thing on his mind -- throwing Lee Donghyuck over the balcony railing. "Donghyuck!"

The whole room flares red as he sees Donghyuck, who jumps up from his seat on the sofa and starts to cross to him. 

Renjun's hands are shaking when he throws them up, smacking them against Donghyuck's chest and shoving him back before Donghyuck can put his arms around him.

His wrist protests defiantly, sending a sickening shock of pain up his arm again, but his anger overrides it.

"What the fuck?!" Renjun snarls. "What the fuck was that?"

"Renjun, I--"

"No, shut the fuck up, I don't want to hear whatever stupid excuse you come up with. Was that part of your big plan then? Was getting sent to prison part of your secret mastermind plot?"

Donghyuck frowns, smacking his hands away before Renjun can push him again. His back is nearly against the wall, but Renjun's brimming with enough anger that one solid object couldn't stop him from putting Donghyuck all the way through it. "Am I allowed to speak now?"

Renjun grits his teeth, curling his fingers into his palms. "Yes. Speak."

"Woof," Chenle quips tiredly from across the room. Jeno quiets him with a hand on his arm.

"Of course that wasn't a part of the fucking plan, Renjun," Donghyuck starts. He shoves a hand through his hair. He looks just as unsteady as Renjun, but a lot less like he had to run for his life through the freezing woods for an hour. "I didn't think the alarm would be pulled so soon. I didn't even think he'd _notice_ for days."

"You underestimated him, then," Renjun scoffs. "I thought that was your whole job."

"My job is making sure everyone does exactly what they're supposed to do. And we did, everyone did... No one was supposed to-- this wasn't the plan."

Renjun stays silent, pressing his lips together firmly. He's half-afraid of what he might do if he opens his mouth now, half-afraid of what Donghyuck will. No matter his own justified anger, Donghyuck shouldn’t be underestimated either.

"That's what you think of me?" Donghyuck continues, quieter. "You think I would set you up?"

Renjun thinks that is a question he shouldn't answer. But Donghyuck stares at him until his resolve dwindles. "I don't know what kind of deals you've made."

"Fuck you," Donghyuck says without any heat. "I've never made a deal that would hurt you. I never would."

As Renjun's anger dissolves, it's replaced by exhaustion. Fatigue sinks deep into his bones. His muscles ache. 

He drops his head, looking down at the carpet. It was freshly vacuumed that morning, and the path of someone pacing back and forth over the same spot has darkened the carpet again. 

"I promise."

Renjun tilts his head up again, slow, meeting Donghyuck's searching gaze.

"I promise no one gets hurt. No one goes down. Not while I'm still breathing."

"Awfully cocky of you," Renjun says.

Donghyuck shrugs, mustering a smile from somewhere behind the tired lines of his face. "Confident, maybe. But I have reason to be."

"Maybe," Renjun murmurs. "But don't put tonight on your resume."

"We should get some sleep," Jaemin interrupts. 

Renjun hadn't noticed him when he'd come in, but Jaemin stands from his place sitting in one of the armchairs. He looks pale, his clothes rumpled and hair messy, as though he'd been rolling around in his own worry. Maybe there's a beating heart in that chest after all.

Renjun shakes his head. "We can't stay here. You all shouldn't have even stayed this long."

“Are the cops here?” Chenle asks, flicking the curtains open curiously.

“Not yet,” Mark says, speaking up for the first time since they’d exited the cab. “But we should ditch your car and find somewhere… a little subtler.”

Donghyuck laughs dryly. “Alright. I’m finished making decisions tonight, so. What do you suggest?”

In a grim looking parking lot, Donghyuck gathers them around.

"It's 50,000 won for a night. Not that bad, right?"

Renjun doesn't even have the energy to roll his eyes. He extends his hand, palm up. "You're paying."

"Yeah, yeah." Donghyuck counts out the right amount and presses the cash into his hand. "We're sharing though. Pick a roommate."

"I'll stay with Renjun," Mark offers. 

"Oh, thank god," Chenle sighs. "He probably whines even in his sleep."

Renjun imagines getting his arm around Chenle's neck and squeezing. Even though he's too tired to make an attempt, the thought alone soothes him. He hopes he dreams about it. 

"Whatever," Donghyuck says. Still, he glances at Renjun. "If that's okay with him."

"I don't care," Renjun says. He doesn't, not really, because he'll probably pass out as soon as his head hits the pillow -- he was already dangerously close to dozing off even while trudging up to the doors of the hotel. His roommate for one night doesn't mean much in the long run. Tomorrow, assuming they don't get arrested, they'll all part ways for a long, long time.

"It's discrete," Jeno assures them as they pass to head to the front desk and pay for a room. "I think politicians come here. They won't tell anyone you're here -- if they did, they'd lose their whole business."

It's reassuring, in a way, that the front desk clerk doesn't bat an eye as Renjun hands over the cash. They just say, "There are condoms and lube in the vending machines on every floor," and drop a key into Renjun's palm.

The hallways are lined with subtle red wallpaper. The rooms must be sound proof, because everything is silent except Renjun's footsteps, and Mark's right behind him. 

The reality of the situation doesn't sink in until Renjun steps inside their room and sees the hot tub, the strangely shaped couch, the singular bed.

Mark drops down onto it with a heavy sigh. It's a big bed, but his arms, spread like wings, nearly span the distance from edge to edge. "Oh. Wow."

Renjun follows his gaze up. The ceiling is a mirror. "Oh."

Mark sits up, a smile slanting over his lips. He doesn't let it break in full, though it seems like he wants to laugh. 

Renjun tears his gaze away and sits on one end of the couch. It curves up in the middle, with one end pointing down, the other up, all covered in plastic. He ponders it for a moment before he spots the laminated card on the end table, depicting the various physical positions made possible by the shape. A sex menu. Charming. 

He stands. "I'm going to get cleaned up."

"Okay," Mark murmurs. He glances at Renjun’s swollen wrist. "Do you want help?"

Not a chance. Renjun shakes his head and hurries into the bathroom, eager to get rid of the smell of the woods -- damp, rotted leaves and mud streaked in his hair, over his ankles. 

Though his wrist pulses with pain, he should be able to maneuver out of his clothes and through a shower without assistance -- he hasn't yet reached such a pitiful point.

That's what he thinks at first, until he tries to unbutton his trousers and the motion of slipping the button through causes pain to spark up his fingers through his wrist again. He hisses out a sharp breath. "Fuck."

Renjun would like to think that he is above this moment. Hell, this whole night. But when he looks in the mirror, all he sees is the mud streaked over his temple, his lips red and cracked from the cold night air, dark purple smudged under his eyes, like bruises. It's been a knockout night and yet he keeps getting up for more. 

"You must be a glutton for punishment," Renjun tells himself in the mirror.

"Did you say something?" Mark calls, his voice muffled behind the door.

Renjun closes his eyes, breathes in and out. He grabs the doorknobs and turns it before he can change his mind, cracking open the door. "Hey. Mark?"

"Yeah?" There's the sound of a body rolling over a mattress, his feet padding across the floor, and then his voice is much closer, deeper, filling Renjun's ears as though for the first time. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Renjun says. "No. Actually, can you-- will you help me wash my hair?"

A pause. A breath. 

"Well," Mark says, "can you open the door?"

Renjun bites down on the inside of his cheeks, stepping back. 

Mark pushes the door open slowly. His eyes are downcast, fixed on the tile. His slippers stick to the floor as he steps inside, and the sound makes Renjun squirm. He must've found them in the closet, in a set. 'Hers' is scrawled across the band in a swirly pink font. 

"Nice shoes."

Mark wiggles his toes. "Thanks. Just your hair, then?"

Renjun nods. He holds his arm up. "My wrist is... I don't want to push it."

"Good thinking," Mark murmurs. "Your hands are..."

Renjun waits for him to finish, but Mark trails off, reaching for the showerhead. He lifts it off the holder and turns the water on in a slight stream, testing the temperature on the tips of his fingers.

"My hands are what?" Renjuns prompts.

"Valuable," Mark says. 

Renjun blinks. His hands, knobby knuckles, red and raw from scrabbling in the woods, are not what he would call valuable. But they are his best tool. "Do you think I should get them insured?"

Mark barks out a laugh. "I'm not sure what insurance company would have you after tonight."

Renjun shrugs. "Maybe I'll never need to work again after tonight."

It's what they've been working for -- a sum big enough to rest easy, to live their lives in peace and comfort. Early retirement. But saying the words aloud makes Renjun's stomach sink. 

"Maybe," Mark says. He glances up at Renjun, his cheeks flushing pink. 

Renjun lifts his brows. "I'm not naked, Lee. You can look at me."

"Actually, you should-- um." Mark clears his throat. "You should take your shirt off. It'll be harder to take it off once it's wet and... yeah."

"Oh," Renjun says. "Right. Okay."

Easier said than done. He grasps his tie, tugging it loose, and pain shoots up his arm again. He gasps, loud, and presses his wrist against his chest.

Mark's head jerks up and he reaches out, steadying him. "Renjun? Jesus. Do you think you broke it? Should we go to the--"

"No," Renjun says between the grit of his teeth. "No, it's not broken. And we're not going to the hospital."

"Alright, alright," Mark murmurs. He holds his hands up in surrender between them. "Let me help, then?"

Renjun hesitates, swallowing his nausea as he cradles his wrist to his chest. "You don't have to."

Mark smiles a little. "But I kind of do, don't I?"

Renjun licks his lips. "Sorry."

"Shush," Mark murmurs. "Let me. If you're uncomfortable, just say the word, alright?"

"Alright." Renjun nods, lowering his arm slowly.

Mark slips his fingers into the knot of Renjun's tie, undoing it with a few deft movements. The fabric falls loose around Renjun's neck and slides away. Mark hangs it over the towel rack, then meets Renjun's gaze. "Okay?"

Renjun nods again.

Mark starts at his collar. His fingertips brush over the hollow of Renjun's throat as he presses the buttons through their holes. Renjun holds his breath, not daring to inhale, in case Mark's fingers move too close to his skin and feel the flutter of his heart. 

Mark reaches the bottom of his shirt and pauses. The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but don't reach a smile. "You really didn't get very far, did you?"

Renjun follows his gaze down to his slacks -- the button pushed only halfway through the buttonhole. He tsks. "Please don't laugh at my half-naked body. It'll really hurt my feelings."

Mark snorts, pinching the fabric of the shirt between his fingers and pulling it over Renjun's shoulders. "It's nothing to laugh at."

"No?" Renjun murmurs, turning. He extends his arm back to assist in removing his sleeves. "I've heard I'm scrawny."

"I wouldn't say scrawny. But have you ever crawled through vents?"

Renjun laughs. "Vents? For a job?"

"Unless you do that for fun?" Mark asks, laughing as well. "Sit on the tub and lean over."

Renjun sits, leaning down so his head hangs over his knees.

"Your pants will get wet."

"Yeah," Renjun says to the drain. "It's fine."

"Maybe you can--" Mark halts so abruptly that Renjun starts, jerking his head up to look at him. Mark's face flushes from his neck to the tips of his ears. He fidgets with the showerhead, accidentally spraying his own toes. 

"What?"

"You could kneel," Mark answers after a moment, not meeting his eyes, "and lean over the tub instead. Might be... we won't have to wait for your pants to dry to pack them or anything."

"I'm not that...picky," Renjun murmurs.

"Yeah, right," Mark says, "right, duh. It doesn't really matter."

"No," Renjun says. He looks at Mark for a moment longer before turning, sliding down to his knees as he faces the tub. He rests his forearm on the side, bracing himself as he leans over. He swallows hard. Quiet, he asks, "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," Mark says softly. 

There's a moment before the water touches his hair that Renjun thinks he might stand up again, laugh it off, as if there was anything in this moment more than a coworker stepping beyond the necessity of his job description. As if the air in the room isn’t thick enough that Renjun might drown in it. But he would have to be crazy to think that Mark feels that static, too.

He closes his eyes as Mark slips his fingers through his hair, making certain that it's soaked through. The water pressure is steady and warm, lulling him to near sleep, but Mark's touch creates goosebumps over the back of his neck. 

"Is it too cold?" Mark asks.

"No," Renjun mumbles into the side of his arm. "It's okay."

Mark hums. He lets the showerhead fall into the tub. 

Renjun watches the water shoot up and stream down the side. Seconds later, Mark lathers shampoo through his hair. He rubs over Renjun’s scalp in circular movements, even trailing down to the nape of Renjun’s neck.

“Close your eyes,” Mark murmurs.

Renjun lets Mark tip his head forward as he rinses his hair. With the motion of Mark’s fingers massaging his scalp and neck, warm water, and cool tile against the side of Renjun’s cheek, he drifts in and out of sleep. Time passes in waves, consciousness ebbing in and out. 

“Hey,” Mark murmurs as he shuts off the water. 

Renjun grunts in response.

Mark squeezes his shoulders. “C’mon. Need me to carry you to bed.”

“My feet still work,” Renjun mumbles, near incomprehensible. 

“I’ll pretend I know what you just said.” Mark drapes a towel over Renjun’s shoulders and steps back, giving him the space to haul himself up. “I’ll bring your bag so you can get dressed.”

Alone, Renjun rinses off what he can and dresses slowly. It’s pathetic how long it takes him. He reminds himself to be more grateful for what his body can typically do, even things as simple as getting dressed.

When he opens the bathroom door, Mark is standing over his suitcase, poking through the contents of a small, dark velvet bag.

"What is that?" Renjun breathes.

Mark shoves the velvet bag deep under his dirty clothes. "What?"

"That." Renjun points at his suitcase. "The-- is that the…?"

Mark smiles sheepishly. It doesn't suit him, being caught in a lie. "Nobody is going to check the tech guy."

"I can't believe this. Donghyuck and Jeno are supposed to carry it. They're the ones who are...Donghyuck is the one who's delivering it."

"Right," Mark murmurs. "That would be the obvious play. Which is why Donghyuck gave it to me."

Renjun frowns. "He knows?"

Mark sighs. "Yeah? Of course Donghyuck knows. He's the boss, right? He's the planner. He gave it back to me before we left the hotel."

It feels as though a bucket of cold water has been dumped over Renjun's head. "Did you have it the whole time?"

Mark's expression falls. He nods.

Donghyuck's overwhelming concern adds up, then. It couldn't have been for the pair of them, least of all for Renjun. At the end of the day, they're thieves at work. The job is the most important. People lost... well, they're lost. You don't need to worry about the clean up if you leave them behind.

"Don't let yourself go there," Mark says as Renjun turns his back to him.

Renjun shakes his head, sloppily folding his dirt-streaked, tailored suit and pressing it into his bag. He can't find his voice to dismiss Mark's assumption. It's lodged somewhere in his throat, just before the back of his mouth, not close enough to chew or spit out.

"Don't," Mark says again. "He wasn't only worried about the diamond."

Renjun shrugs. Although he tries to maintain a blank face, he's afraid he isn't successful. Instead, he tilts his head away from Mark, careful not to let him see his wavering faith.

"Renjun."

"It's late. We have a big day tomorrow," Renjun says, crossing to the bed. He folds down the sheets then reconsiders it. Who knows how many people have laid in this bed -- or what they've done in it? He lies on top of the duvet instead. "Well. You and Donghyuck do, anyway."

The other side of the mattress dips under Mark's weight. Renjun's stilted enough to feel it like an earthquake, shattering what remains of his resolve. He presses his face into his arms, willing his disappointment to fade. But it's more than that -- it's something deeper that he doesn't know how to name, let alone heal.

Mark turns out the light, plunging the room into darkness only inhibited by the red and pink glow from the glowing heart, hanging over the hot tub. Mark settles, but Renjun hears his every moment, his ears pricking with sensitivity to even the air filling his lungs.

In the dark, the quiet, Mark says, "You said that you'd trust me."

Renjun rolls onto his back. They don't touch. In the mirrored ceiling, two men stare down at Renjun, their features distorted by the shadows and the pink glow. He cannot look one of them in the eye. "I did."

"Trust me?"

"No," Renjun says. "I did say that."

"How is anyone supposed to live up to what you want?" Mark asks.

The man above Renjun looks small and cold. He shrinks further as he says, "I don't want anything but my money."

He wants so much, really. His pinky finger, centimeters from Mark's, burns, and the heat travels up Renjun's shoddily-bandaged arm, as if the only relief might be to reach out and touch. 

But he doesn't. 

Mark turns on his side, finished with the conversation. "Goodnight, Renjun."

When Renjun closes his eyes, he still sees the two men in the reflection, drawing closer, the whole ceiling bearing down on him, everything falling, and he can't speak, can't touch, can't look away.

The alarm is so loud that Renjun doesn’t hear his phone ringing until he turns it off. 

“Hello?” he answers groggily. His eyes stick together with sleep. He wipes the corners, rubs with the heel of his palm, but the night still clings to him. 

“Are you up? It’s time to head out,” Jaemin says. “No breakfast included, can you believe that? We’re at the CU on the corner.”

“Okay, we’ll be there in—“ Renjun casts a look to Mark, still just a lump under the blankets. “Fifteen minutes?”

Renjun dresses before he wakes Mark. A few minutes later, the two of them are outside, Mark's sleep-mussed hair blown back from his face by the breeze, Renjun hiding his eye bags with a cap pulled down low. 

When they step inside the CU, their party is already tucked around the table in the back corner, sharing a few rolls of kimbap and sipping coffee. 

Donghyuck greets them with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Everything alright?"

"Great," Mark answers. 

Renjun turns down an aisle to find something that will satisfy the gnawing hunger that threatened to keep him awake last night, not needing to be privy to the following conversation. After all, it's not like Donghyuck thought Renjun was important enough to know the full plan. He had made as much clear.

"When's your flight?" Chenle asks when Renjun joins them again. 

"Six tonight," Renjun answers. "You?"

"In a couple hours, but I'm only staying a few days. Meeting up with some friends."

"You have friends?" Jaemin cuts in, teasing gently. Their chairs squeak over the floor as Chenle kicks at Jaemin's ankles and Jaemin tries to avoid him. When they've settled, Chenle turns back to Renjun.

"You'll be in Seoul when I get back?"

Renjun shrugs. "I'm not sure. My lease is up."

"Need any help moving?"

"No. I've got everything."

Chenle's gaze falls to Renjun's duffle bag. He doesn't look amused. "That's it?"

"That's it," Renjun confirms. He sips his water. "But we'll see each other soon."

Chenle hums. "Try a little harder when you say that to the others. You'll need to be more convincing than that.

Renjun isn't sure if he feels the need to convince them. Isn't it better to cut ties? They have no use for each other any longer.

From the other end of the table, Mark turns to him. "You need to go to the doctor."

"I'm fine," Renjun says.

Donghyuck sits up straight, his attention shifting to Renjun as well. "What happened?"

Renjun shakes his head. "Nothing."

Mark opens his mouth, presumably to protest, but Renjun silences him with a look, frowning. 

He doesn't need Donghyuck digging himself into Renjun's business again. Look where that got Renjun, letting Donghyuck in, letting him make decisions, trusting him. Nearly arrested. Though, maybe he would have sooner gotten a good night's sleep.

Jaemin stands. "I've got a flight to catch, so I'll say goodbye now."

"Bye," Renjun says.

Jaemin ignores his shortness, coming around to hug Renjun from behind. He nearly knocks Renjun's cap off his head. "You'll miss me."

Renjun doesn't dignify him with a response. Unperturbed, Jaemin moves on to Jeno, who stands to hug him properly. They linger for a moment, exchanging some whispered words before Jaemin grabs Donghyuck, who complains loudly.

"If my cut isn't in my account by Friday, I'll be coming back for you," Jaemin says.

Donghyuck hums. "Promise?"

“As if I can resist staying away,” Jaemin tsks.

After a brief farewell to Chenle and Mark, they all watch him duck out of the convenience store. For a moment, Renjun can see him through the window, then he’s gone.

“Who’s next?” Jeno jokes.

Renjun rolls his eyes and stands to throw his garbage away. None of them react when he slips his bag over his shoulder before stepping away, disappearing behind the aisle. They probably won’t notice for a few minutes that he hasn’t come back. Their voices rise over the aisles of snacks and instant ramyeon. 

He wonders if he’ll miss them, how long it will take before he forgets the sound of their voices, if they’ll all get together again, for one more job. He doubts it.

He’s never been one for goodbyes. He doesn’t look back as pushes open the door. 

He doesn’t stop even when he notices someone looking, out of the corner of his eyes, a pair of warm brown eyes on his face.

And then he’s gone.


	2. nyc

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renjun runs, but something like fate intervenes.

_One year later._

Most days, Renjun rises early and walks to the bodega for coffee. Which is to say that Renjun stares at the inside of his eyelids, and then the ceiling, and then the window, watching sunlight creep over the side of the brick wall that is his glorious view, dreading the thought of crawling out from his warm bed, the alarm clock chiming all the while. 

But he does get up every day, washes his face and brushes his teeth, checks that his keys are in his pocket, checks again, and leaves. 

There's a thrum in his veins that pulses with the concrete city heart and subway system. Life goes on all around him, kids rushing across his path as they race after their friends, husbands calling out the third-story windows and waving goodbye to their wives, whose heels click-clack across the pavement. 

And there's Renjun, walking the same path every day, alone. By now, the way between his apartment door and the neighborhood corner store should be worn down by the weary tread of his feet. But this city was built to withstand more than his one pair of lonely feet.

The door jangles when he pushes it open. Renjun nods to the owner, behind the counter, murmuring a quiet, "Good morning," and pauses to scratch between the ears of the cat that seems to lounge permanently at the end of the counter, tail flicking absently. He isn’t used to pets, but she’s sweet.

He buys a coffee first, taking the time to peruse the aisles for anything he might need at home before he leaves. He holds his cup, a classic Anthora replication, with both hands despite the heat. The AC hasn’t cranked on yet, but the air isn’t too warm inside, making the sips of hot coffee bearable.

Someone enters while Renjun peers down at his slim choices of fruit. Busy with his inner debate against the desire to give in and buy an egg and cheese sandwich, he doesn’t pay much attention to the conversation happening at the counter. Only when he looks up, glancing down the aisle, does he freeze, shocked by the sight of the man passing by.

It couldn’t be…

Between the shelves, he sees a flash of his face.

Rushed by some invisible force, a pair of ghostly hands on his back urging him forward, Renjun walks down to the end of the aisle and turns the corner. But the man is gone.

Where he stood, two women peruse the bread options. There aren’t very many. They give him a curious glance at first, then roll their eyes when he doesn’t step away.

Renjun doesn't know what he was thinking. He must not be getting enough sleep. Maybe the hours he spends lying in bed, plotting to steal items he only dreams of are finally catching up to him. 

"Renjun?"

Renjun jerks around. 

There he is. Looking much the same, his hair just a little shorter, little wisps curling over his temples. There's something still so different about his face that Renjun can't pinpoint at first. Despite Renjun's penchant for details, there are so many to sort through and he wants to absorb them all. 

"You're not wearing glasses," Renjun says once he realizes.

Mark smiles and nods toward the aisle Renjun had just hurried away from. "I thought I saw you over there, so I went over but... I guess you saw me, too?"

"Why would you guess that?" Renjun asks.

"Oh," Mark says, "were you not looking for me?"

He already knows as much. That's why his smile doesn't slip for a second, not even half a second, which isn't fair because Renjun still feels like his world has tipped over and ripped out the ground from beneath his feet. 

Renjun just shrugs. "I guess you have a good eye."

Mark laughs, clapping his hand to Renjun's shoulder. "Can I buy you a coffee?"

"Sure," Renjun says, despite the coffee already in his hand. Mark doesn’t mention it either. 

"Great," Mark hums. "My favorite place is right down the block."

"Oh. Do you live around here?"

Mark nods. "Yeah, like— A block down that way, to the left and— I guess you don't need directions for anything."

"No," Renjun says. He doesn't say that's the way back home for him, too. Some things are better left secret, an unsaid upper hand.

  
  
  


There was another tech guy, even before Jisung. 

Renjun tries not to think of that guy, now. 

He's been so successful in not thinking of him that he's nearly smudged his name from his memory. He can't recall his strange habits, or which way his smile slanted. The color of his hair, eyes, the curve of his neck — all gone. In the place of his body is a hazy figure, light and shadow, and even that is too generous.

Only two memories have remained over the years. First, the calluses on his hands — rough skin that didn't belong on someone who spent most of their time inside, hunched over a computer. 

Back then, Renjun didn't mind the feeling of hands on him. Rough fingers on his untouched skin, even just the slope of his shoulders, or his wrist — the sensation zipped down his spine. A fleeting touch was enough to give Renjun a chill. No matter how hard he's tried, he still remembers that.

Second, the look on Donghyuck's face when he told Renjun to tell the detective everything. His eyes were darker than Renjun had ever seen them, his lips pressed in a grim line. Cold. Distant. Assured. It was frightening to see Donghyuck's brightness plunged into the dark. It was terrible to trust him, that night, and to listen. Renjun didn't want to. But he did. He told the detective everything.

_Everything_ was a lie, of course.

And this lie sent their first tech guy to prison. But, it wasn't like he didn't deserve it.

That's what happens when someone crosses Donghyuck. They get what they deserve.

Renjun hasn’t forgotten that.

"Is it totally selfish of me to ask you to come?" Renjun asked a week after the reckoning. He clutched his phone to his ear, his stomach twisting at the thought of what the voice on the line would say. It was the only voice he trusted to tell the truth, after all. 

"Maybe," Jisung answered. 

He paused and Renjun could only hear the shuffle of slippers across the floor, the _thwap_ of clothes being dumped into Jisung's suitcase. The tension in his stomach relaxed slightly.

Jisung sighed. "But I'm really poor right now, Renjun, so I'm more upset that you didn't offer me a job sooner."

"There wasn't an opening."

"Now there is. For a cursed position."

Renjun rolled his eyes. "It's not really cursed. It's just that the last guy fucked up. Now, if you fuck up, then maybe it’ll be cursed. You're not going to fuck up, are you?"

"Almost definitely," Jisung said. "But not intentionally."

It was Renjun's turn to sigh, letting his breath rush out of his lungs until they ached from emptiness. He stared at his ceiling and tried to decode the cracks, wondering if they might tell him if this was the right choice.

"Renjun-hyung, are you sure you want me there?" Jisung asked.

"Yes."

"You don't sound like it."

"Come," Renjun said. "You're the best person I know for this job."

"And it'll be nice to have a little piece of home, right?" Jisung hummed. He sounded like he was teasing, but he wasn't. 

It was a jab at Renjun's absence and the hole he'd left in their childhood that he'd chosen to leave someone else to deal with. He hadn’t cared who that person would be. He’d never thought it would be Jisung who took up the responsibility he’d left behind. But Jisung had always been too kind.

"Your flight's early," Renjun said. "Don't be late."

He hung up before he could hear Jisung's laugh. Still, he knew he was laughing.

Two days into a job Renjun had been learning for two years and Jisung was an expert.

It started with the new scheme. An outside job that Donghyuck had been keeping under wraps, not telling anyone who their employers were. Renjun was alright with letting him handle it.

"You can't seriously be this deep into it and not even know who you're dealing with when you take these clients?" Jisung asked, frowning deeply as he cupped his hands around the hot chocolate Renjun had been gracious enough to buy him.

"It's not my job to know the clients," Renjun said. It sounded stupid even before the words passed his lips. He grimaced. "Not everything about them. That's Donghyuck's job."

"And you just trust him?"

Jisung had the right to be incredulous. Renjun hadn't ever been the type to toss around words or feelings like _trust_ but Donghyuck hadn't done anything to him yet that felt deserving of _distrust_. Renjun kept a careful distance and maintained their push and pull relationship at the same time. It was a feat he was proud of, but Jisung had seen through the cracks only a few hours after seeing them in the same room.

"Hyung," Jisung sighed.

"I know," Renjun said. "I should be more careful."

Jisung shook his head. "Just be smart."

The unsaid: smart thieves knew more than _what_ they were stealing. Smart thieves knew who they were stealing from, and who they were stealing for.

"These people are no joke," Jisung had murmured as he started his research, and twenty minutes later Renjun knew exactly why nobody was laughing.

Rich people can buy their way out of plenty of shit, but there are lines even billionaires can't cross. Only politicians can walk some tightropes. Government connections mean freedom to move money, erase charges, disappear. And these people had plenty.

"What the fuck have you got us mixed up in, Donghyuck?" Renjun wondered aloud, staring at the rap sheet growing longer on Jisung's screen.

In the end, that was a quick job. Easy money. In and out.

“No more working with people like that,” Renjun told Donghyuck. No room for question. 

Surprisingly, Donghyuck agreed. Working under the big dogs must have been too hard for someone with an ego like his.

Under Donghyuck’s direction, Jeno did the hand-off of the goods, an innocuous thumb drive passed from his palm into another while waiting for the traffic light to change. Jeno didn't even have to turn his head, just tucked his hands into his pockets and crossed the street when the crowd moved forward.

But Renjun watched the whole time, perched in a cafe with the perfect view of the street. 

He'd been told not to go, but this time, like many others, he chose to listen to his instinct. 

He couldn't look away from Jeno's point of contact, how he held himself with such certainty even in his loose dress-shirt and big puffer jacket, the way he sucked his cheeks in as he sought out Jeno in the crowd, the steel look in his eyes when he found his target.

Renjun would dream about that look.

It was funny, really, that Mark had the same eyes.

The same name, too.

Maybe getting his start in the business with such a renowned crime organization lends to Mark’s gall.

But it was Renjun who starts it, he supposes, by turning down the aisle, looking for Mark in the first place. He reasons that was a natural reaction to hearing a familiar voice in an unfamiliar place. 

Of course he was going to look. Of course he was going to follow Mark home like a pitiful stray after coffee and let Mark make him tea, wondering at the big apartment that he supposedly shared, at the length of Mark’s floppy hair, at how Mark hissed through his teeth when he poured the hot water too fast and it slopped out of the mug onto his wrist. 

He should’ve been more careful around a man like that, who knew so many things, had been involved in much shadier jobs than Renjun could fathom, and could still offer that boyish smile, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck as Renjun sipped at his drink.

“It’s good,” Renjun says. “Thanks.”

Mark’s smile grew so wide anyone would’ve believed he’d won the lottery. Renjun had to blink to clear the spots from his vision.

So, Renjun should be warier, yes. He hadn’t remembered Mark when they met in Seoul, the man had looked so out of place, so young, just as lost as the rest of them. But he knows him now, pulled up from that sloppy mess in the brain that mixed dreams and memories, startled you awake in the middle of the night. 

He shouldn’t stick around a man like that, especially with how easy it is to talk to him. It shouldn’t be so easy.

It’s terrible that it is.

He goes over all of this when he closes his door behind him and encounters the silence of his apartment. It was a mistake to follow Mark home. But it won’t be one he repeats. He isn’t mixing up in that business anymore, not with people that will only get him in trouble. And Mark... 

Mark is trouble.

The second time he runs into Mark, Renjun smiles, says good morning, and hurries down the street before Mark is finished buying his coffee.

The third time, Mark beats him there, and is already standing outside, sipping his drink, when Renjun stops to scratch the cat between her ears.

"Stalking me?" Renjun asks.

Mark smiles. "I live around here, remember? It's a nice day. Have a long commute?"

"I'm not working," Renjun says, before he realizes his own mistake.

"Great." Mark nods down the block. "Walk with me then."

Renjun should say he's busy. He should say he's sick. He can cough into the crook of his elbow, sniffle a few times. The bags under his eyes are dark enough to be convincing. He has plenty to do at home, like read, pace, and stare at the walls.

The sun is warm on his face, and Mark's hopeful smile warmer still.

"Yeah," Renjun says. "Alright."

In the back of his head, a voice resembling Chenle's laughs and says, _"Lonely, aren't you? Knew it."_

Since Mark is already diving into a story about his crazy neighbor and her four yapping dogs, Renjun will have to deal with imaginary-Chenle's jabs later.

After that, meeting Mark in the morning or on a late night snack run becomes habitual. It’s inevitable that he finds out where Renjun lives, and he starts showing up there, too. 

Outside of a job, Mark is a little different. He laughs louder, for one thing. His laugh is so boisterous it bounces off the walls of Renjun's living room, echoing long after he leaves. 

Renjun doesn't hate it. Actually, after the first time, when he startled at the sound of Mark's giggle, which fell into an uncontrollable cackle, he found that the sound stirred something in his own chest, tugging at his lips until he, too, was laughing, muffling the sound behind his hand.

He's also a lot kinder.

There was nothing terribly mean about Mark, before. He had just held Renjun at a similar distance to the one Renjun held him. A professional distance. There aren’t professional excuses left now when Mark leans back into Renjun’s doorway, asks, “Have you done much sight-seeing?”

Renjun shakes his head. “No. Well. Not a lot. I stay home, mostly.”

Mark licks his lips. “Come out with me.”

Renjun doesn’t point out that they’ve been out. Outside, at least, walking around their neighborhood. Even had lunch together. He feels like opening his mouth to answer at all will only lead to disaster — a feeling that starts in his chest, with the way his heart skips a beat.

Mark notices. He laughs a little, rubs the back of his neck. “As friends.”

“Sure,” Renjun says. “Sounds good.”

Some nights, he lies in bed and replays the day until he’s sure he’ll remember everything. Others, his heart is so loud that he has to pack his duffel bag, put it by the foot of his bed, just to set his mind at ease. Just in case he needs to run.

His time in New York has been slow and solitary. Then he met Mark.

From there, everything goes by in flashes.

  
  


A few weeks into their exploration of the city, Mark takes him to the Met. On Fifth Avenue, Renjun stares, unsure how to feel about the grand and — if he’s honest — gaudy facade of the museum. 

Already halfway up the steps, Mark looks back and laughs. “There’s a lot more to see inside.”

“I can’t believe you’ve never been here,” Mark murmurs, touching Renjun’s back as he leads him past the ticket office. 

Another time, Renjun might have shrugged away from his touch, shy in the close proximity to Mark’s heart, worn so obviously on his sleeve. But he’s already lost in the guide pamphlet he’d snagged while Mark paid for their tickets. He hadn’t thought twice about the language, snagging his pamphlet as soon as he laid eyes on it.

Mark pauses, peering over at the glossy paper, and hums as he finds the characters illegible. “You’re in charge, then. Tell me where you want to go.”

They veer right, perusing the Egyptian art. In the American Wing, Mark slips into the bathroom and Renjun glances over the guide again. It will only take a moment to see some things by himself, he thinks. When Mark finds him staring at armor, he only gets a mild scolding for wandering away.

The afternoon passes much the same, Renjun leading them to the more interesting parts of the museum only to get distracted and wander away again. Mark’s a good sport about it, trailing along with him without complaint. 

When Renjun gets caught up in his thoughts, drawn into the art, Mark just takes a few steps away, reading the informational cards hung beside each piece. A few times, he comes back to report on his finds, like a proud schoolboy. Renjun can’t fault him for that. If anything, the fluttering in his chest worsens.

“Oh,” Mark says. 

Renjun tears his gaze from the painting in front of him. His eyes burn from staring so he blinks a few times to clear away the sting. It’s like the brushstrokes are burned into the back of his eyelids. It’s hard to tell when his eyes are open. 

Mark stands a few feet away, facing the entrance to the next collection. Renjun hadn’t picked up the additional guide pamphlet, he didn’t know what or who was on display. 

“What is it?” Renjun crosses the room to join him. He doesn’t need an answer. He loses his breath for a moment, looking at the sign and display in front of the room. “Oh. It’s...”

He stops. Mark can read, too. As surprised as he was, kicking himself for not even looking up what exhibitions would be showing this month, he trails into the collection. He doesn’t check if Mark is following him. It’s a given that he’s always a few steps behind. 

A small crowd meanders after a docent who stops almost every other painting, gesturing and explaining its significance. 

Renjun doesn’t need to listen. He knows plenty. TY, an artist of near mythical proportion in Renjun’s mind, has very few works that have been seen by the public, but his style is totally unique, and the letters... Renjun has nearly memorized those.

The first time Renjun had seen a TY in person was last year, at that ugly house on the mountain, just an hour before he was on the run. Funny, that Mark had been there then, too. 

He stops in front of a canvas almost as tall as him, already losing himself in its swirling shades of blue and green. The paint isn’t smooth to the surface of the canvas, but smeared in thick layers, popping up from the fantastical scene and entering the real world. Likewise, Renjun imagines that if he leaned forward and tipped his head against the canvas, he would sink right in. 

“Looks familiar,” Mark says, just beside him. 

“Mm.”

“You like this stuff?” Mark asks. Renjun glances at him briefly, unsure how to take that, and Mark continues, “I mean, this style, like. This is what you’re into? More than the old stuff.”

“It’s pretty old,” Renjun murmurs. “Twentieth century. I wasn’t even alive in the twentieth century.”

“Hey,” Mark tsks, “I was. Are you calling me old?”

“Ancient.”

Mark scrunches up his nose, clearly having difficulty figuring out if Renjun is joking. 

Renjun rolls his eyes and nudges his arm. “You’re barely older than I am. Relax, old man, you’re not going to croak any time soon. I hope.”

Mark brightens immediately. “Oh, do you? Would you miss me too much, Renjun?”

Renjun ignores him, turning on his heel to move to the next painting as the docent and their crowd leave it. Mark follows, his laugh fanning over Renjun’s back, surprising, but not uninvited, a cool breeze on the hottest day of summer. 

  
  
  


Mark likes making pizza. 

“We’re in _New York_ ,” Mark explains as he steps up to the deli counter, putting on an over-the-top accent that draws a few unimpressed looks from other shoppers. He picks up the ball of fresh mozzarella he ordered before he returns to Renjun’s side. 

“New Yorkers make pizza?”

Mark smiles. “Why not? They have all the best stuff for it.”

That’s Mark’s explanation for everything: _Why not?_

Why not make a pizza every Thursday night? 

Why not drop flowers off at Renjun’s door on Monday? 

Why not stay a little longer, Renjun? Where do you have to go in such a rush? Why not rest your head on shoulder, on my lap, let my fingers land on your neck, massage that big knot? We have all night, Renjun.

Everything’s so easy to Mark. There’s never any reason not to say yes, try something new. Renjun wants to hate him for it. But he’s having trouble coming up with a good enough reason.

In his kitchen, Renjun takes a long swill from Mark’s craft beer and pushes off from the counter to peer over Mark’s shoulder. He’s kneading the pizza dough. He made it from scratch. “Can I help?”

The question startles a smile out of Mark. He looks sidelong at Renjun and nods toward the canvas bag with fresh vegetables on the counter to his left. “Want to wash those?”

Except for Mark’s humming over the top of the radio, they fall into quiet as they work. Renjun washes his hands, pulls out a pair of fat tomatoes, and dunks them under the faucet. 

His ears prick with a strange awareness. For a few seconds, he’s not sure what it is. Then he realizes that Mark has stopped humming.

Renjun glances at him. He finds an odd shine in the liquid of Mark’s eyes. But Mark isn’t looking at his face, transfixed by his loose grip on the tomato in his right hand. 

“What is it?” Renjun asks.

Mark reacts bashfully. As though he was caught looking at Renjun’s naked body. He looks back down at fists, pressed deep into the dough, and then back to him, a pink flush high on his cheeks. “How’s your hand?”

Renjun follows his gaze back to his hand, mystified. It takes a few moments for Renjun to know what he’s talking about. He turns the faucet off with the back of his wrist. “Fine. It was just a fracture.”

“It broke?”

Renjun hums quietly. “Not too bad. Everything healed fine. Just gets a little sore when it rains now.”

Mark looks a little pale, his cheeks sucked in like he’s trying not to be sick. A crease digs between his brows. 

“I’m fine,” Renjun murmurs.

Like a storm breaking, the expression clears. Mark offers him a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course. 

He drops it. Renjun’s not sure why he’d rather it had stayed where it was, in the back of his mind. Maybe he’d rather have this here, now, without remembering who they are. Where they came from.

But that night hangs between them, dug up from its grave to hang its bones around their shoulders.

  
  
  
  


It's a warm day in the middle of summer. The comfortable weather has turned Renjun's apartment into a sweltering, humid box. He wakes up sweating and promptly throws his clothes in a pile. Even without clothes, his skin feels sticky. A cool shower helps, for a few minutes, but as soon as he steps out, the heat descends again.

So he's given up, lying on the couch. People on the TV screen come and go. He should eat, but the kitchen feels so far away. Even the promise of standing in front of the fridge and relishing in that short burst of cold as he opens the door can't tempt him away from the Renjun-sized dent he's currently forming in the cushions.

He's debating giving up on the day and taking a nap, his eyelids drifting already closed, when he's startled awake by a knock on the door.

He doesn't get many visitors here — just Mark. And Mark would have called first.

The thought of a stranger on the other side of his door kicks Renjun into action, but the idea of finding his pants quells the uptick in his heart rate again. Laziness wins.

Instead of running back to his room, he grabs the throw blanket hung over the back of the sofa and wraps it around himself like a shoddy robe. He glances down at his half-assed tunic, notes that it only falls to his knees, and thinks, _I'm in New York. They've probably seen worse_.

He looks through the peephole, frowns, and pulls open the door. "Why didn't you call?"

Mark's eyes land on his bare knees before finding their way to his face. He tilts his head. "I did call."

"Oh." Renjun stares at him for a moment more, absorbing the well-fitted suit clinging to all the right places, and steps back into his apartment, holding the door wider for him to enter. "Is that the suit Chenle made you?"

"Nah. I wore this to someone's funeral, I think." Casually, Mark shrugs and sets down a big bag on Renjun's coffee table. "It's hot as— it's really hot in here."

Renjun stifles a yawn, crossing his arms over his chest. "Do you need something?"

Mark smiles. "Close your eyes."

Renjun obliges, trying not to think about Mark wearing a suit that hugs his thighs and shoulders and dips into his narrow waist, drawing eyes and attention, all while someone lies dead in a casket. He thinks everyone should try to be as ugly as possible at _his_ funeral.

"Are they closed?"

"You can see that they're closed," Renjun says. "Only for the next five seconds, though, so—"

Mark laughs, drops something that rolls across the floor, swears.

"Five—" Renjun starts.

"Shut up," Mark says, much closer than before.

"Two—"

Mark huffs, pressing his hands gently over Renjun's eyes before he can open them. Renjun's breath stutters at the sudden contact, but he stays still, letting Mark angle his face.

"Okay," Mark murmurs, so close that his breath tickles the shell of Renjun's ear. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Renjun says, sighing. "Obviously."

"Brat." Mark drops his hands. "Ta-da!"

The surface of Renjun's coffee table can't be seen under the variety of supplies laid out — tubes of paint, brushes, pencils, sketchpads, markers. At one glance, Renjun recognizes the brands, the excess of art tools, and the dollar signs start racking up in his head.

Stunned, all he can do is look, frozen in place with his arms still crossed over his chest. He only realizes his mouth is hanging open when Mark laughs.

"It's yours," Mark says, smiling widely.

"Mine," Renjun slowly repeats. "What... what is all this?"

Mark rubs the back of his neck, still grinning despite the sheepish downturn of his gaze. "I noticed you didn't have anything here and thought, like, you really should. You're really talented and all... anyone with your attention to detail—"

Renjun’s mouth goes dry. Apparently, his brief mention of painting when he was younger hadn’t escaped Mark, nor his appreciation for the museum. He wonders if the diamonds had something to do with this, too. His replications.

"This is too much," Renjun cuts in. "I don't need all this."

Mark tsks. "No, probably not. But don't you want it?"

Renjun hesitates. It's too big of a gift to accept for no reason, on a random day in the middle of summer. "What's the occasion?"

"Occasion," Mark repeats. He stares at Renjun for a moment before laughing, as though he's just made the funniest joke Mark's ever heard. He rubs his eyes, shakes his head, amusement still smeared over his lips as he says, "There's no occasion. I just like seeing you happy."

Renjun swallows hard. “I have money, I can buy it myself.”

“I know. Isn’t it the thought that counts?”

“I think that saying is reserved for _bad_ gifts.”

Mark hums. “Ah. So it’s a good one.”

Renjun sighs, frowns, but it’s a ruse and Mark knows it. He passes his fingertips over Renjun’s wrist and the warm slide of his touch sparks heat in Renjun’s chest. There's nowhere else to hide.

“Yeah," Renjun admits. "It’s a good one.”

Mark’s suit is too hot. Renjun lends him some clothes after dressing himself, and only smirks a little at the length of his sweatpants, just a little too short on Mark’s legs. 

Mark hides his ankles behind a couch cushion. “Don’t be cruel.”

Later, after hours of sipping beer and fighting the heat, they climb out onto the fire escape. The night air is a welcome relief, still thick in Renjun’s lungs but not as sticky on his skin.

“What was the suit for?” Renjun asks suddenly.

“Oh,” Mark says. “Work stuff.”

They haven’t talked much about Mark’s job. More like Mark won’t talk much about it and Renjun can take a hint. But that was a while back, the first time he asked. Surely they know each other a little better now.

Renjun frowns.

Mark nudges him with his elbow. His eyes are heavy, roaming Renjun's profile as Renjun stares resolutely off the edge of the fire escape. He can't see anything on the ground at this height, in this darkness, except the rats huddled at the edge of the alley dumpster. 

"What?" Renjun sighs.

"You're all quiet now," Mark murmurs. "Let’s talk about something else. What do you dream about?"

Renjun huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He can't tell Mark that when he closes his eyes all he sees are glittering jewels, stacks of cash, locked vault doors. His bank account is already sizable enough — Mark would know, after the last job, exactly how much was deposited into Renjun's account once the money went through the cleaners. Mark, after all, was the cleaner. 

But Mark jostles him again, his lips curled in a little half-smirk like he knows exactly why Renjun's biting his tongue. He couldn't, but he looks it. 

That must be why people hire him, Renjun thinks, why it's easy to trust that he can get something done the right way, the first time, no costly mistakes. He just looks like he knows what he's doing. 

"Just doing what I love, I guess," Renjun answers.

"What you love," Mark repeats, carefully. He nods, tapping his thumb on the edge of his chin as he surveys Renjun, and then his hand is on Renjun's face instead, palming his jaw. His hand is soft. "What do you love?"

Renjun thinks he's supposed to say, _You_ , but the word won't form. It tastes plastic, too clean, too fake. Instead, he leans in and kisses him.

Mark's touch may be soft, but he kisses rough. 

Renjun appreciates not being held like something breakable. A delicate touch might have sent him running.

  
  
  
  


Love is a foreign thing. 

For Renjun, whose childhood homes were full of sound and sights, none of them affectionate, it’s an improbable stranger that always catches his eye. 

When Donghyuck brought Jeno around, it was funny. At first, the whole thing seemed like a joke, an advantage. Donghyuck was like him, made of the streets, all bite, all tooth and claw. And Jeno was nice, sure, but he wasn’t like them. For all his muscle, he was gentle and giving and— and maybe that was the part Renjun didn’t get: the reason why someone would give when they could take. 

Donghyuck was like him, so it was a surprise to Renjun when Donghyuck’s hard gaze started going soft, when Jeno started staying over, just because he didn’t want to wake Donghyuck, whose head was leaning on his shoulder. 

He wondered, then, what that was like. Something other than physical desire. Something that tied you down. Renjun was not envious of the weight Donghyuck carried with him. For a life on the run, extra baggage was the last thing someone needed. 

Mark was the last thing Renjun needed. 

  
  
  


Too bad he’s such a good kisser.

  
  
  


Summer crawls by. Between his time spent in front of a canvas and in Mark’s bed, Renjun loses track of the days. He still rises just as early, walks down the block to buy a coffee and breakfast. It’s just that sometimes he’s waking up in Mark’s bed instead, carrying an additional coffee back with him to save Mark time before he goes to work. 

They still don’t talk about work. It bothers Renjun more than it probably should, but Mark is good at distracting him. He has nice hands. Soft, gentle.

“Did you see Jeno and Donghyuck's vacation pictures?" Mark asks one night. He leans against Renjun's shoulder, eyes on the TV even as the terrible drama they're watching fades into a commercial.

"No," Renjun says. "I don't really go online."

"Right." Mark pats his pockets, feeling for the shape of his phone. How he could be sitting on it and not feel it is beyond Renjun. "Want to see? Super cute."

"I'm okay," Renjun says. "If Donghyuck wanted—"

He stops himself, but a lump has already formed in his throat, a hard knot of emotion that he'd rather swallow again than release into the world. 

Mark's gaze drifts from the TV to the side of his face, waiting, so Renjun shrugs, effectively dismissing his sentence and dislodging Mark from where he's plastered himself along Renjun's side.

Mark sits up, reaching for the remote.

Renjun sighs. "We don't have to talk about it. Really. Honestly. I'd rather just watch the..." He glances at the screen. "The Slapchop commercial."

"Do you ever miss them?"

Startled, Renjun looks at him again. "What?"

Mark's eyes search Renjun's face, but his expression stays soft, shuttered. Renjun realizes with creeping unease that he doesn't know what Mark's thinking. It wouldn't be the first time. But it doesn't make him any less afraid.

"Do you miss them?" Mark asks again, slower. "Your friends."

"I don't know that I would go so far as to call them my friends."

Mark nods, but it wasn't the answer he wanted. His forehead creases as his brows draw together, and he looks down at his hands, picking at his cuticles.

Renjun swallows hard around the lump in his throat. "I didn't know you were so attached to mine and Donghyuck's relationship."

He was trying for light-hearted, but the air is too thick for the words to do anything but fall, like a heavy book dropped on top of a spider, a thud that sounds around the apartment. 

Mark sucks his cheeks in, biting the corners of his lips, looking more perturbed by the second.

After a few seconds, his face settles again. He lifts his face to meet Renjun's eyes. "I just wonder, sometimes, if there's anything you care about enough to miss."

Renjun can hear his heartbeat. He wonders if Mark can hear it, too.

Renjun says, "I guess the only person I would miss, I haven't had the chance to, yet."

It was the right thing to say. Mark smiles like he’s won something and leans over, kissing Renjun’s cheek. He doesn’t press it, thankfully, but something heavy settles in Renjun’s stomach.

“Maybe we should get away, too, before it gets cold,” Mark says. “Do you like the beach?”

“I don’t know,” Renjun says honestly. His mouth is dry. He should get a drink. 

He doesn’t have anything to take time off of. He’s not sure how Mark steals away from work. He doesn’t ask when the time comes, just settles into the passenger seat of their rental car and cranks the volume on the radio, singing along loud, until Mark joins in, until a headache creeps over the back of his skull, and then some more. 

The road flies by.

They end up in a motel room, just a few miles from the boardwalk.

"We can afford something a little nicer," Mark points out when Renjun directs him off the highway, but he never really argues with Renjun. Sometimes, Renjun wishes he would.

It's not that bad. The bed doesn't creak when Renjun tests it with the weight of his knee, and there aren't even any suspicious stains on the gray-brown carpet. Unless the whole thing is one big stain. When Mark proposes this, Renjun laughs, and Mark smiles, and then they're staring each other down again. 

A motel room duel. The contest: who can hold out the longest? The prize: a mystery. 

Not for long. 

Mark seizes Renjun around the waist and pulls him down onto the mattress. Renjun rests his hand on Mark's chest as Mark kisses him languidly, and only pulls away when he remembers they haven't locked the door.

"Do you want to get murdered?" Renjun asks as he slides the bolt into place, ignoring Mark's whines.

"Wouldn't that be romantic?" Mark teases. It's toeing the line that Renjun has drawn, not that he’s let Mark know. 

Romance means love. And love is out of the question.

Maybe he should say so. Renjun crawls back onto the bed and straddles Mark's thighs, looking down at him. 

He's as handsome in the dim, yellow light of a motel room as he is in a tailored suit, even if his facial hair has grown a little too long and his T-shirt has a hole in the seam, just under his armpit. 

It's unfair to be so handsome, Renjun thinks, but he can't find a reasonable fault, not even when Mark's stubble rubs his face raw.

"The beach?" Mark mumbles into Renjun's neck. He slides his hand under Renjun's shirt, his fingers hot on Renjun's skin. 

Renjun sighs, tilting his head. He’s already forgotten what he wanted to say. Must not have been very important. He closes his eyes as Mark kisses down the column of his throat. "Later."

"Later," Mark agrees before ridding himself and Renjun of their shirts altogether.

There is always later — time stretching on with no end, an endless golden afternoon with Renjun's face cradled between Mark's hands, Mark's nose pressed into his hair, the sound of their breathing all around them.

Renjun's stomach turns over and over. No matter how many times he swallows, the sickness still rises.

  
  
  
  


By the time they roll out of their room, the sun has descended past its highest point. The late afternoon hasn't slowed the procession of tourists, however, and they join the crowd on the boardwalk. 

Renjun can't see through the cracks between thick wooden planks, but he imagines he can hear the waves slapping against the poles. It would be impossible, with the noise of the crowd. 

There’s live music, games. They duck into a bar for happy hour before walking down to the beach. 

Mark slips his fingers between Renjun’s, holding his hand as they walk. He’s talking about something. Renjun doesn’t know what. He can only hear the ocean, the birds, his heart. He nods when Mark pauses, smiles when Mark does. 

Mark doesn’t even notice.

  
  
  


"Did you see the Greyhound station?" Renjun asks over a greasy diner burger. He's halfway through it and just reached the cold center. He appreciates the American ability to create food both frozen and dripping with oil. 

Mark swipes a cold fry from his plate and pops it into his mouth, shaking his head. "No. What about it?"

Renjun shrugs. He's not sure why he brought it up. He's just been thinking about it since they passed by, imagining the cycle of buses rolling in and out, all the people in their rows, headed somewhere new. He can't remember if there was something specific he wanted to mention about it. He was hoping Mark might have an answer.

When the answer comes to him, in the motel bathroom, he grips the edge of the cool, white sink and avoids looking into his reflection. 

  
  
  
  


The warm red glow of the sun disappears and their motel room plunges into darkness. 

Mark's arm lays over Renjun's side, his hand pressed to Renjun's chest, over his heart. As his breathing deepens and evens out, his hold relaxes, until his hand falls, palm facing the ceiling. 

Renjun looks down at it, imagining that he can see the lines creasing his palm. If he were a palm reader, maybe he could understand the tightness in his own chest through Mark's lifelines. Which one is for love? Renjun brushes his fingertips over Mark's skin, careful. He doesn't want to wake him. He doesn't know what to say.

_I'm sorry,_ maybe. _I wish I could do this. I'm sorry I can't be what you need. I'm sorry I never will be._

Renjun wishes he could be sorry enough to think twice when he slips out of Mark's arms and shifts off the bed. But the moment his feet touch the floor, his body flares with the urge to sprint from the room, shoes be damned. 

He doesn't. He dresses, slowly, and collects his meager belongings. Everything he owns fits in one bag. 

"It's easier to leave," Renjun had told Donghyuck, the night they'd moved into their first place together. A pitiful studio with untrustworthy plumbing. "When you only have one bag, you can just grab it and go."

Donghyuck had frowned, staring into their shared takeout container for a long minute with his chopsticks poised in the air before he looked up at Renjun's face again. "Why do you always have to go?"

He didn't know. Maybe he never would. But when the ache came, when his feet began to itch with the need to wander, that's when he had to leave. It's never a thought or a plan, just a feeling that keeps Renjun dizzy until he listens. 

But he'd tried. No one could say he didn't try this time.

Mark's chest rises and falls. At the foot of the bed, Renjun watches him. He hopes he's dreaming of them. He thinks it will be better if Mark forgets him soon. It’s better this way, leaving before love comes in. Before they can do something they’ll regret.

But Renjun is a thief who threw away guilt a long time ago. 

As he steals out of the room, letting the door fall shut with a soft click behind him, he hopes Mark won't forget. He hopes he'll miss him, even if it hurts. It would be nice, for someone to hurt, for someone to care that he's gone.

  
  
  


Two months later, Renjun’s phone lights up. He sits up in bed, grabbing for it. Few people have this number. 

  
  


**From: Mark**

Thought of you tonight.

Hope you’re doing ok.

**(seen 2:41 am)**

  
  


He hates how his heart skips. He reads it three times, then twice more before he can even think to respond. His thumbs hover over the screen. When he realizes his hands are shaking, he forces out a laugh and drops his phone on the bed. He rubs his eyes and picks it up again.

  
  


**To: Mark**

I’m fine.

  
  


He stares at the message for a long time. 

Sometimes, when his mind wanders back to New York — fire escapes and deli coffee and motel rooms — he wishes he’d had the guts to press send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pizza thing... sorry toast, it was already in the draft when we talked about it and i had to leave it in just because of that
> 
> thank you for reading!! i'd love to hear from you...
> 
> you can find me here:  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/jpseudy)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jpseudy)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading... let's chat!! 
> 
> you can find me here:  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/jpseudy)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jpseudy)


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